


Mickey Always Sucked at Gay Chicken

by FakePlasticSnow



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Belligerent Sexual Tension, Blow Jobs, Emil is the best wingman ever, Enemies to Lovers, Humor, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Porn With Plot, Rare Pairings, Romantic Comedy, Self-Discovery, Slap Slap Kiss, Slow Burn, does Jumin Han is skate, hijinks ensue
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-03
Updated: 2017-09-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 20:24:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9564905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FakePlasticSnow/pseuds/FakePlasticSnow
Summary: Michele would protect his sister at all costs, up to and including accidentally making out with the grumpy Korean she had a huge crush on.





	1. Best Brother Ever

**Author's Note:**

> I had WAY too much fun writing this. I know it's a pairing nobody asked for, but I needed a guinea pig to toss at Seung-gil so I could find out if he's a [kuudere](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/Kuudere) or a [yandere](http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/Yandere), and, well...Mickey really needs to get laid.
> 
> This [Michele/Seung-gil doodle on Tumblr](http://rejected3faq.tumblr.com/post/155412689234) is an excellent argument for shipping: they're super-hot and they totally look like that OTP from Voltron. *thumbs up*

Michele wanted his sister to be happy. He really did.

It was just hard to be happy for her when the source of her happiness was some grumpy Korean who was nothing but rude to her. When the 2017 Grand Prix assignments came out, the first name she looked for after her own wasn't her own brother's but Seung-gil's.

"I get to see him in the most romantic city in the world!" Sara sighed on the phone. "It's perfect, Mila. Do you think I should play hard-to-get this time?"

His knuckles whitened as he sat and watched her. He promised he wouldn't intervene after she put her foot down about her independence. He just wished she had better taste in men.

Maybe a bit of Big Brother Mode was in order. If he couldn't scare Seung-gil _away_ , perhaps he could try scaring Seung-gil into being a halfway decent person.

 

Michele didn't think anybody could read a book _villainously_ until he saw Seung-gil immersed in a heavy tome with a pretentious-looking cover. Michele squared his shoulders and marched over to his side of the break room.

"If you ever hurt Sara, you'll have to answer to me," he snarled.

"I haven't done anything to Sara." Seung-gil didn't even bother to look at him, which only infuriated him more.

Michele took a deep breath. "I can't stop her from feeling what she feels about you, even though you don't deserve her. But if you break her heart, I swear I'll --"

"You have nothing to worry about."

"The hell do you mean?"

Seung-gil carefully reinserted a bookmark, closed his book and looked up at him. He stood up, completely impassive despite standing uncomfortably close to Michele. He gently placed a hand on Michele's forearm before leaning in until his lips brushed Michele's ear. "What I mean is, you have _nothing_ to worry about," he said. He kissed Michele's cheek and then walked off before Michele could even think about how to react (scream at him? punch him? faint?).

Michele glowered at Seung-gil's retreating form. He always sucked at gay chicken.

He struggled to only glower at the back of Seung-gil's head and not at his taut, shapely ass.

Phichit walked into the break room and nearly jumped at the scowl on Michele's face. "Whoa," he said. "You need to get laid."

"Nobody asked you," Michele grumbled.

 

Michele had no idea what Seung-gil's theme for this season was, but his best guess was "sexy serial killer." Donning a black suit and tie, Seung-gil glided around with seamless precision. The program suited his calculating personality and soulless eyes, although apparently he'd learned to go from "soulless" to "smoldering" this year and it was kind of…working.

Towards the end of the song, Seung-gil aimed that smoldering look at Michele in the third row, sparking a weird, unfamiliar feeling in Michele's chest. Michele looked away.

"Oh my God, he's looking at me!" Sara swooned against Mila. "He wants me so bad."

"Um, that's great," Michele said distantly.

Mila and Sara stared at him.

"Who are you and what did you do with the real Mickey?"

 

For once, Michele was grateful not to share a hotel room with his sister. Now that she was rooming with Mila, she couldn't catch him looking up articles, interviews, and fan pages about Seung-gil on his laptop. He shoved his guilty conscience aside by telling himself he was "researching" the potential breaker of his sister's fragile heart. He needed to better understand the man in order to protect Sara from him.

Michele's eyebrows shot up when he came across this line in an article: _"Although his good looks make him popular among female fans, he is not interested in women."_

A feverish search of his Instagram account returned no evidence of a man in Seung-gil's life. (Just looking for proof to show Sara, Michele told himself.)

 

Michele stood dumbly at the vending machine. He'd forgotten what he wanted: coffee? Iced tea? Vitamin water? Processing words was impossible when all of his mental energy was focused on not looking at Seung-gil, who was bent down with his legs apart to stretch his hamstrings. The deep red fabric of his free skate costume stretched out nicely over his ass.

Michele's heart dropped to his stomach when he realized Seung-gil had bent his head down to look upside-down at Michele.

"You're staring," Seung-gil said.

"What? No! This stupid machine is broken." Michele weakly slammed his fist on the vending machine a few times.

"Your money's still in your hand." Seung-gil straightened up and walked towards Michele, stopping just a few inches from him. Michele backed away until his back slammed up against the vending machine with a loud clang. Seung-gil's pupils were just as dark and unreadable even in the harsh fluorescent glare of the break room. "Why were you staring at me?"

"I wasn't, you psycho!"

"You want something from me. What is it?"

"Nothing." Michele gulped.

"People stare when they want something," Seung-gil said. "Did you want advice on stretching? Because I don't help out the competition."

"No." Michele racked his brain for something, anything. "Sara --"

"This is not about your sister and we both know it." Seung-gil stepped closer and angled his head up, exposing the long, elegant line of his throat.

Michele caught himself looking and averted his gaze.

"I see." The corner of Seung-gil's mouth curled up. "You want to touch me. I think you should."

"You're fucking crazy," Michele said weakly.

"And yet you're still standing here when you could walk away at any time," Seung-gil said. "Well?"

Michele stood there and balled his hands into fists. This psycho was going to kiss him or something, and he knew he should shove him off right now and walk away, but his feet remained rooted to the floor. Outside the break room, cheers erupted at the end of someone's free skate.

He looked down at Seung-gil's lips. 22 years really was too long to go without kissing someone. If he leaned down just a little, he could blame it on the crazy. Yes. Insanity was contagious, and Seung-gil was fucking batshit.

"Indecision is so unattractive." Seung-gil stepped back. "You're boring. I won't waste my time." He walked back to his corner and continued stretching, not looking at Michele even once after that.

Michele stalked off, seething.

 

Michele was not gay.

He was not at all gay, not even a little bit.

He simply hadn't found the right woman yet. Once he met the right woman, he'd get the funny tingle in his heart (or, more accurately, pants) like the one Seung-gil gave him earlier.

He was _so_ not gay.

Michele had to remind himself repeatedly of his not-gayness as he warmed up for his free skate. Attempting to ignore Seung-gil's free skate on the TV felt like being back in the boys' locker room after gym class, where Michele nearly burst a forehead vein trying not to look at rippling abs and bulging biceps.

His treacherous eyes wandered over to the screen, where Seung-gil masterfully fused paso doble moves into his skating. He moved seductively around the ice like a bullfighter's cape, the fabric of his winged sleeves flowing behind him. Seung-gil's eyes flashed dominance the same way they did when he looked up at Michele and dared him to make a move.

The edges of his vision blurred as he watched. He felt light-headed. Was this how it felt to desperately want something that he desperately _didn't_ want to want? Michele escaped to the locker room and leaned over the counter to catch his breath. In the mirror, he noticed beads of sweat on his forehead. He closed his eyes to envision his free skate choreography, naming each step until his heartbeat calmed down.

The loud whine of the door swinging open interrupted his thoughts. In the corner of his eye, Michele saw red.

Seung-gil sauntered past without looking at him. Like Michele didn't exist. Before Michele could stop himself, he shot a hand forward to grab Seung-gil by the waist and pull him close.

"Oh. It's you," Seung-gil monotoned.

"My name is Michele, asshole," he growled before grabbing a fistful of Seung-gil's hair and kissing him.

Insanity really was contagious, because Michele felt fucking crazy, intoxicated by the warmth of Seung-gil's mouth and possessed by an inexplicable desire to never ever stop kissing him. His lips were so soft. Seung-gil guided Michele's fervor, angling his head and teasing with his tongue in a way that made Michele whimper shamefully. He'd been starving for 22 years, and yet the deeper they kissed, the more he hungered.

Seung-gil pulled back and dragged his teeth along Michele's neck, making him groan. He reached up to hold Michele's chin and face him towards the mirror. Michele felt a disorienting mix of pride and panic at the sight: a beautiful man draped on him, with disheveled hair and reddened lips that Michele could proudly take credit for, and --

"Fuck!" Michele pushed him off and rubbed at the light red bite mark on his own throat. "My free skate's in five minutes."

"Newbie," Seung-gil snorted. "That's not a hickey. It'll wear off shortly. Not sure I can say the same for _that_ ," he added, glancing down meaningfully at the part of Michele's pants that had become constricting. He reached down to sadistically caress him over the fabric, and while Michele's brain wanted to stop him, his crotch didn't. "Good luck," Seung-gil said. He planted a kiss on the fading bite mark and headed for the lockers, casually undressing along the way. 

Michele caught the sight of Seung-gil's now bare shoulder before shutting his eyes. He desperately wanted to keep looking -- he could admit that now, at least -- but that wouldn't help with the growing problem in his pants.

 

"Should I ask him to dance?" Sara asked, gazing longingly across the ballroom at Seung-gil. "I tried playing hard-to-get but he still hasn't made a move."

"I don't know why you're so obsessed with him," Michele said lamely. If he could somehow dissuade her from her hopeless crush on Seung-gil, maybe he wouldn't have to tell her that 1) Seung-gil batted for the other team, and 2) Seung-gil's tongue was in her brother's mouth less than 24 hours ago and he still could not stop thinking about it.

Sara broke her furtive gaze only long enough to look at Michele and ask, "What's not to love?"

"He's mean to you, he ignores your texts and phone calls, he's…he's an asshole…" He trailed off once it dawned on him that he probably answered his own question. Sara always came crying to him because she always went for the same type of guy.

"He's gorgeous, he's intelligent, he's mysterious, and I bet he's really sweet deep down," she said, smiling as she watched him ignore everybody but his coach. "He's not shallow and easily impressed like other men. He'll only let the right person in to see the hidden side of him…" Michele zoned out as Sara rambled on using the same adjectives she'd used to describe the male leads from _Twilight_ and _Fifty Shades of Gray_. She really needed to find better romance novels.

His eyes widened at a more horrifying epiphany. What if Sara's terrible taste in men didn't stem from shitty romance novels, but from having an overprotective brother? Britney Spears wrote entire songs about it and went on to become the Patron Saint of Terrible Taste in Men. He couldn't let Sara turn into Britney Spears. Michele really needed to chill the fuck out on Big Brother Mode.

He nearly had an aneurysm upon seeing another hand reach out to cover Sara's, but he relaxed upon realizing the hand belonged to Mila.

"Let that boy come to you," Mila cooed. "Come on, let's dance. He won't be able to resist you once he sees how much fun you're having on the dance floor."

As soon as Sara and Mila left him alone at the table, Michele caught Seung-gil staring. Michele stared back defiantly because, damn it, he was a _man_ with _pride_ and he wasn't about to lose an impromptu staring contest to some jackass who snubbed his sister and called him "boring." It didn't hurt that Seung-gil was especially easy on the eyes this evening, looking unfairly hot in a black and white suit.

Michele stuck his chin out aggressively.

Seung-gil stared on, unimpressed. He stood up from the table and left the ballroom.

Michele glanced regretfully at Sara. Wanting to stick his penis in the boy she had a crush on placed Michele firmly in Terrible Brother territory. On the other hand, he was sort of doing her a favor: if things had gone her way, she'd end up in a dysfunctional relationship with a crazy asshole. Michele was only too happy to jump on that grenade for her.

He got up and followed the crazy asshole to the elevator.


	2. Extra Virgin

This wasn't how it was supposed to go, Michele thought as he jogged up to Seung-gil. Growing up, he'd imagined bumping into The One at a bookstore or bakery and feeling that spark as their eyes met. She'd be sweet and kind like his sister, artsy like his father, and pious like his mother. She'd wear a long skirt, a high ponytail, and a winsome smile. Michele pictured her with curly red hair; all of his guy friends drooled over girls with red hair so he figured that was what he was supposed to want. He would romance her with flowers, serenade her by the boardwalk, and he'd wait until the third date to kiss her because Michele was a perfect gentleman unlike those hormone-laden monsters who courted Sara.

Instead, he'd wasted his first kiss on this fucking guy, and all he could think about for the last three days was wasting a bunch of other firsts on him like some hormone-laden monster.

"Did you want something?" Seung-gil asked without turning around.

"Um." Michele hadn't thought that far ahead. "Your room number."

"Why?"

 _This fucking guy._ Was Michele going to have to spell out everything? He almost walked off when he heard the elevator chime. He took a deep breath. "I…I want to keep kissing you."

Seung-gil stepped into the elevator, turned around, and held the doors open for Michele. "Come on, then."

In the longest elevator ride ever, Michele shoved his hands in his pockets and avoided Seung-gil's gaze. He let out an unintentional squeak as Seung-gil loosened his tie.

"What's your story?" Seung-gil asked.

"What?"

"You look nervous."

"I'm not nervous."

"You're _sweating._ "

"Uh, it's stuffy in this elevator."

Michele had never met anyone who made him nervous before, not like this. Which might have explained why he'd never bumped into exactly the right person at the many bookstores and bakeries he'd walked into over the years. This wasn't a romantic spark, and Seung-gil was most definitely not The One, but the way Michele's heart raced when he finally locked eyes with Seung-gil was new and addictive. He took one step closer, tilted Seung-gil's chin up with has hand, and brought their lips together in a soft, explorative kiss. Michele still had no idea what he was doing, other than that it felt amazing, so he let Seung-gil take the lead until they reached the 17th floor.

 

The bone-chilling dread that accompanied his lust almost made it better. His mother would kill him. His sister would freak. He was totally going to hell.

But as they kissed in Seung-gil's bed, Michele figured that if he was going to hell, he might as well take the scenic route.

"You really didn't think this through, did you?" Seung-gil mumbled against his throat. Michele bit back a gasp. He'd kind of figured out over the last half-hour that there were certain parts of his body that got really tingly at the touch of Seung-gil's lips, and his throat was one of those parts.

"Think what through?"

Seung-gil pushed himself up and straddled him. "We've been kissing for half an hour and you still haven't tried to get me naked. Is this high school or something?"

Michele's eyes trailed down as Seung-gil unbuttoned his shirt. Once he realized what was happening, he bolted upright in panic and grabbed Seung-gil's hands to stop him. "What -- what are you doing?"

"Why are you being so _weird_ abou…" Seung-gil trailed off. He tilted his head. "Are you a virgin?"

"No way," Michele said, although the traitorous blush in his cheeks gave him away.

"Right. That explains a lot." Seung-gil dismounted him and stood up. He started to button his shirt back up, but Michele reached over to stop him again.

"Wait."

"We don't have to do anything if you're not ready." For a second, he thought he saw Seung-gil's eyes soften.

"But…" Heat spread through Michele's face and neck as he moved up to sit on the edge of the bed facing Seung-gil. Asking what he was about to ask made him want to die, but his train back to Italy was scheduled early in the morning and he might not see Seung-gil for a while after that. "I want to see you. I don't know what I'm ready for, but I want to see you."

"You're seeing me right now."

"I want to see the rest of you." His fingers fumbled clumsily with the buttons on Seung-gil's shirt.

"Jesus," Seung-gil said, although he didn't stop him. "It's a good thing you're pretty, because I don't normally deal with this much repression and baggage from a hookup."

Michele glared at him for a second before returning his focus to the last button. Once that was undone, he got down on his knees and planted a kiss on the spot of exposed skin just above Seung-gil's waistband. He heard a faint "nngh," looked up at the slightest hint of a flush in Seung-gil's cheeks, and trailed his tongue there experimentally. The resulting "nnnngh" was longer this time. He kept his tongue there, dragging it slowly upwards and downwards as he undid Seung-gil's belt and pants. He hadn't really felt in control of _anything_ with regards to Seung-gil until this second, so he decided it might be fun to spend the rest of the evening looking for all the parts of Seung-gil's body that made him make those noises.

Soon the pants came off, and Seung-gil stood before him with absolutely nothing on. For a second, Michele had to correct his locker room instinct of pretending he wasn't looking. It was okay to look this time, more than okay. He drank in the sight of him: fair skin, sinewy arms, flat stomach. What a shame such a beautiful face had to belong to someone who was kind of an ass. Michele almost said "wow" out loud, but that would have given Seung-gil the upper hand again.

Shutting him up was way more fun.

Michele trailed teasing kisses along the ridge of Seung-gil's hipbone.

"What are you -- _fuck._ "

He dragged his tongue along the underside of Seung-gil's cock before he could say another word. He licked the tip and then took the entire length of him in his mouth, savoring the indecent groan it elicited. Michele hadn't planned on going this far tonight, but God it was fun watching Seung-gil tremble and redden helplessly.

"Hey listen, you…really don't have to…"

Michele dug his nails into Seung-gil's hips and bobbed his head faster in response. He'd shamefully imagined doing this for a long time, always wondered what it would be like to have a cock in his mouth whenever he saw one of those scenes in porn. The real thing was even better than he could have imagined; Seung-gil's cock was hot and thick and heavy in his mouth, and feeling it slide in and out made Michele's own erection strain and leak against his pants.

" _Please_ , Michele," Seung-gil gritted. "If you don't stop, I'm going to…"

The sound of his name coming from those pretty lips drove Michele insane. He locked eyes with Seung-gil and kept going, wrapping a fist around the base of his cock and moving it in time with his mouth. Seung-gil's body was completely in his control now. It was a weird kind of revenge over getting so flustered earlier in the day, and Michele couldn't get enough.

Finally, with a strained cry, Seung-gil shuddered and forked a hand through Michele's hair. Michele kept his eyes on Seung-gil's face as he swallowed every hot, salty drop.

Keeping his hand in Michele's hair, Seung-gil knelt down in front of him and kissed him deeply.

"Damn, Catholic Boy," Seung-gil breathed against his lips. "You are full of surprises."

He pulled Michele up, pushed him back onto the bed, and straddled him. He reached for Michele's zipper, but Michele grabbed him by the wrist and flipped them over. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Returning the favor?"

"N-no need!"

Pinned down under him, Seung-gil arched an eyebrow. "What man has ever turned down a blowjob before?"

"I'm not ready." Michele was certainly _willing_ , painfully so, but if he grinded his hips so much as an inch against the very naked Seung-gil under him, he would explode. He didn't want to imagine how badly he would embarrass himself if Seung-gil's mouth was down there.

"Very well," Seung-gil said.

"Is it okay if I just stay here and hold you?" Michele wanted to kick himself for asking, but Seung-gil's body was warm and fitted so perfectly against him and he kind of didn't want to leave just yet. He reached up and wiped the sweat away from Seung-gil's forehead with his thumb.

Seung-gil tilted his head. "You're interesting," he said with a slow smile that could have meant either _You're interesting, I want to know you_ , or _You're interesting, I want to dissect you._ That smile made Michele's blood run cold and his dick harden. He couldn't tear his eyes away.

 

"I never got to dance with him," Sara sighed as they boarded the train. "I'm sure you're relieved."

Michele bit his tongue.

Once they were settled in, Sara masochistically scrolled through Seung-gil's Instagram feed. Michele glanced over even though he was already far too well-acquainted with the photos: Seung-gil running with his pet husky, Seung-gil at the Louvre, Seung-gil nursing a cappuccino at a Parisian café and looking like he stepped off the set of a Korean drama with his perfectly tousled hair and gray scarf. Michele fought back a stubborn sense of pride (and arousal) over knowing exactly what was under those expensive clothes.

He really was the worst brother ever.

"Are you really not going to say anything?" Sara asked as she side-eyed Michele.

His heart dropped to his stomach. "Wh-what?"

She raised an eyebrow and waved her phone -- picture of Seung-gil and all -- at him. "Where's your regularly scheduled 'he's a jerk, stay away from him' lecture?"

He shrugged. "I don't know why you keep doing that to yourself, but I won't stop you."

"Well, even if I don't stand a chance with him, he's still fun to look at," she said.

Michele looked out the window at the green hills rolling by. He had no idea how this sort of thing worked, other than that Seung-gil didn't have his number. Expecting him to get in touch would be silly.

 

A week later, Michele took thirty different shirtless gym selfies and selected the perfect one to post to Instagram. He wasn't normally one for shirtless selfies (unlike that sleazebag JJ), but it was the only icebreaker he could think of. Michele tucked his phone away in his locker and went back to lifting weights to take his mind off of it.

After showering and changing, he anxiously checked his phone and thumbed through the likes and responses in search of one particular username. Nothing. They lived on opposite ends of the world, Michele figured. He was probably asleep. Maybe he'd see it tomorrow.

As soon as he woke up the next day, he reached for his phone to check Instagram again. More adoring fangirls and fanboys, but other than that, still nothing.

At the end of a long training session, still nothing.

At lunch the following day with Sara and their rinkmate Emil, still nothing. However, upon checking his feed he saw that Seung-gil had posted a picture. It was nothing special, just a bowl of what Google Translate called "japchae." But this meant that Seung-gil had checked Instagram at some point over the last 24 hours, probably seen Michele's very flattering (and very superior to JJ's) shirtless photo in his feed, and _not bothered to like or comment on it_.

Michele wanted to throw his phone.

Not that he cared or anything. They were just two guys, they meant nothing to each other, Seung-gil had probably moved on to the next guy by now. No big deal. There were probably other hands touching that body. Other eyes drinking in the sight of him as he undressed. Other lips on Seung-gil's lips.

Not that Michele cared or anything.

Emil raised an eyebrow at the pure rage on Michele's face. "Dude, you need to get laid."

"Why does everyone keep telling me that?"

 

Michele paced back and forth in the living room, phone in hand, trying to decide whether or not to stop beating around the bush and just DM him.

Sara, who was curled up on the couch, swiped left and right on her phone. "Wow, I should have done this sooner. So many cute guys who actually respond to my texts."

Michele opened and closed Instagram repeatedly.

"So hot but so dumb," Sara sighed, swiping left.

Michele pocketed his phone and tried to ignore it. He lasted about two minutes before pulling it out and reopening Instagram.

"There are way too many shirtless photos on here," Sara complained. "I thought Emil said this was a good place to find a serious relationship. Why can't any of these guys be more like Mila?"

Michele opened a DM window and stared at the blank space. What would he even say? _"Hey, why didn't you like my photo?"_ Too desperate. _"I don't know if you remember me but…"_? Too timid. _"Hey, when's round two"_ with a winky face? For fuck's sake, he wasn't Christophe Giacometti.

"Ew, Random Guy, I am not DTF," Sara grumbled and swiped left.

He closed the DM window. His brow furrowed as he thumbed through Seung-gil's photos. Seung-gil had the same stoic look in all of them. Over the past few weeks, Michele had used up an embarrassing amount of lotion and tissues thinking about that one night, but what he really couldn't stop thinking about was Seung-gil's unreadable smile. He wanted to see it again.

Michele flopped into the chair across from Sara and sighed.

Sara looked up from her phone. "Jeez, Mickey, what's gotten under your skin?"

He froze. He looked at her, then down at his own phone and the photos he had been sighing over. Shit. Not only was he irreversibly gay, he was turning into _Sara._

When Michele decided to jump on that grenade for his sister, he failed to realize that jumping on that grenade involved _landing_ on that grenade.


	3. He's Just Not That into You

**_michele-crispino_ ** _hi  
**seung-gillee** hi_

Michele sighed in relief. He would have DMed Seung-gil sooner if he'd known it would be this easy.

 **_michele-crispino_ ** _i'll be cheering Emil and Sara on at Cup of China. DM me your room number when you get to the hotel?  
**seung-gillee** Sorry, what are you talking about?_

He threw his phone across the room. How stupid was he to expect anything different from this guy? And he really fucking wished "I Knew You Were Trouble" would stop blasting from Sara's bedroom right then.

The phone landed on the bed with a soft thud and lit up with a new notification. Michele hesitantly picked it up.

 ** _seung-gillee_** _Just looked at your recent photos. Memory now refreshed. Hello._  
**_michele-crispino_** …  
**_seung-gillee_** _I barely recognized you without a shirt on, since you were all weird about that the last time we met._  
**_michele-crispino_** _it's different in that situation!_  
**_seung-gillee_** _OK then_

Michele took a breath and continued typing.

 ** _michele-crispino_** _so…room number?_  
_**seung-gillee** Let's play it by ear. I don't make plans with casual hookups. That's a little too intimate for me._  
_**michele-crispino**?_  
_**seung-gillee** I know you're new to hookup culture. First rule: find your chill._

"What does that even _mean_?" Michele screamed at his phone.

 

"Emil." Michele cleared his throat. "How do I find my chill?"

" _Dude_." Emil grunted and set the barbell down with an awkward clang. "Maybe wait until I'm not mid-squat before you ask such a weird question."

"Not so loud," Michele whispered. He glanced around the gym to make sure nobody stood within ten feet of them. "Look, I didn't know who else to ask. You're the calmest person I know. How do I find my chill?"

"I'm gonna need a little context here."

He fidgeted with his towel while trying to find a sufficiently vague way to phrase it. "Somebody told me it was the first rule of hookup culture."

Emil's eyebrows shot up past his bangs. "Okay, I'm glad you didn't say _that_ while I was lifting. I would have pulled a muscle." He sat down on a nearby bench and took a swig from his water bottle. "Since when does Michele Crispino care about hookup culture?"

"I don't," Michele said as he sat down next to Emil. "I mean I…things happened. With somebody."

"Finally!" Emil clapped a hand on Michele's back. "I've been telling you for months that it would be good for you."

"Not finally! I'm still a virgin. Technically."

"That's cool, you do you. Work those loopholes," Emil said with a wink. "Who's the lucky lady?"

"No one you know." It was technically not a lie, for certain definitions of "know." Michele scratched the back of his neck. "Just someone I met at Trophee de France."

"She must be ridiculously hot if she actually got you off of your chastity high horse." Emil held up a hand for a high-five. "So proud of you, bro."

Michele grimaced as he reluctantly reciprocated the high-five. "Are you going to be helpful or what?"

"Okay, let me think." Emil leaned forward and tented his fingers. "So you hooked up with her and she told you to find your chill?"

"Basically."

"Not surprising," Emil snickered.

"What the _fuck_ is that supposed to mean?"

Emil grinned and raised an eyebrow.

"Alright, fine," Michele sighed. "What do I do?"

"Depends. Do you want to hook up with her again?"

"Yes. Or find a way to stop staring at my phone hoping for a text or a like on Instagram."

"First of all, don't feel bad." Emil threw an arm around him. "It happens to all of us."

"I find that hard to believe."

"It's true. I mean, you definitely have way less chill than the average person, but it's normal to feel a little crazy when you meet someone you like," he said. "So if you want to regain your chill, just remember: _options_."

"Options?"

"You always have options. You're a good-looking dude, you have that chivalry thing going for you, and I don't care if this chick is Margot Robbie, there are a million other hot girls out there. You could sign up for Tinder like Sara did."

"Please don't remind me that Sara's on Tinder," Michele groaned. The whole reason they were at the gym that evening was because Sara was currently on her very first Tinder date and Emil insisted on babysitting Michele to make sure he didn't break anything. "Also, quit telling her she can find a serious boyfriend on there, that's terrible advice."

"Why? I met all my serious girlfriends on Tinder."

"You're so weird."

"Thanks, I try." Emil grinned. "Anyway, when's the next time you'll see Trophee de France girl?"

"Cup of China, probably."

"Well, ignore her," he advised.

"That's it? That's your big helpful advice?"

"Ignore her," Emil repeated, "but ignore her within her orbit. Be in the same room. You want her to see you having a fun time without her because you are your own man, you have options, you're not hanging off of the attention of some hookup who told you to find your chill. Let her see what she's missing out on."

 

At the Cup of China, Michele ignored Seung-gil all over the place. He ignored Seung-gil at the hotel lobby, the locker room, and backstage. He ignored Seung-gil while conspicuously chatting with good-looking male skaters. Out of the corner of his eye, he tried to see what effect his newfound, carefully orchestrated chill was having on Seung-gil, although Emil never told him _how_ he would know if it was working. At the hotel breakfast bar, Seung-gil sat in a corner and nursed a cup of yogurt with his usual indifference. It was not the expression of someone who was about to give Michele his room number anytime soon.

Michele was so immersed in hardcore eye-corner-staring that he nearly walked into Sara's table. She nibbled on pineapple chunks while leafing through a copy of _He's Just Not That into You._

He frowned at the book while sinking into the chair across her.

"Mila lent it to me," Sara explained. "I'm trying to move on to something healthier."

 

He'd drop dead before he ever asked Sara if he could borrow her book, so he instead opted to apply sheer willpower to the situation. His DIY solution mostly involved repeating "he's just not that into you" in his head while trying to genuinely ignore Seung-gil instead of ignore-but-not-really-ignore him. As he waited backstage for Emil, Michele reminded himself of the many reasons Seung-gil was not worth wasting any mental energy over: he hadn't said hi at all, he wore a stupid rainbow piñata costume last year, he barely smiled, he was mean to Sara, he was a pompous jerk. Such a jerk. A sexy, intriguing, mysterious jerk…

Michele shook the errant thoughts out of his head. While walking, he pulled out his phone to google "he's just not that into you" but since his texting-while-walking skills were nowhere near Sara's level, he bumped into a blur of black fabric. Michele opened his mouth to utter a quick apology but stopped upon seeing the hollow look in Seung-gil's eyes as he gazed up at the TV. On screen, Emil nailed his quads with ease, working them seamlessly into more nuanced choreography. Michele would know, having taught Emil to skate more expressively during training over the last few months.

"52.5, add 12 with a 1.1 multiplier…" Color drained from Seung-gil's face as he mumbled on. "My competitive advantage over Nekola was presentation. I'm not going to fuck this up again, I can't, I'm not..."

"What's wrong?"

Michele froze when Seung-gil turned to him. He'd never seen much of anything in Seung-gil's eyes before, let alone fear, but it dissolved as Seung-gil steeled himself.

He grabbed Michele by the wrist and dashed down the hallway, glancing left and right. "Fifteen minutes. This will do," Seung-gil said, opening a broom closet and pulling them both inside.

"What are you doing?"

"I need a distraction," Seung-gil said before leaning in to kiss him.

Michele pushed him away before their lips touched. "I shouldn't…this is not…"

" _Help_. Me." He could barely see Seung-gil's face in the dim light, but the desperation in his eyes was startling.

Michele gave in and kissed him before he could stop himself. His willpower was no match for two weeks of fantasizing. Seung-gil melted against him, balling his fists into Michele's shirt, kissing like Michele was his _air_. The raw need in his kiss caused a stir in Michele's chest and, admittedly, his jeans. Michele's breath caught when Seung-gil pawed the front of them.

Seung-gil sank to his knees. He rested his fingers on the top of Michele's zipper. "Can I?"

"Um."

"I need it," Seung-gil mouthed against the denim.

Michele's cock twitched against his jeans as he looked down. He could feel his white-knight instincts kicking into gear in a twisted, shameful way. "Yes."

He braced himself on the shelving behind him as Seung-gil unzipped him. His eyes rolled back in his head at the first swirl of Seung-gil's tongue around the tip. He felt suddenly grateful that the room was dimly lit. When Seung-gil took the entire length of him in his mouth, Michele panicked -- that felt _too_ fucking good -- and tried to mentally conjure up a distraction, any distraction, but thoughts became impossible once that perfect mouth started working his cock. He bit his lip to keep from crying out.

His eyes strained to adjust to the darkness until he could kind of see Seung-gil's features and that pretty mouth on Michele's cock. "God, I wish I could see you."

Seung-gil looked up at him, which drove Michele over the edge despite his best efforts to hold back. Every muscle in his body tensed up as the shocks rippled through him. Coming in someone's mouth was nothing like any of the times Michele had brought himself to climax, and Michele feared he'd crave it again once they parted. He thumbed through Seung-gil's hair while catching his breath.

This boy was going to be the end of him.

Hot shame flooded his face once he regained awareness. "Fuck, I'm sorry," he panted, bracing himself for taunts about having lasted barely a minute.

"Don't be." Seung-gil stood up. Cum glistened at the corner of his mouth, which he slowly wiped away with his thumb. If Michele hadn't just come, he would have at the sight. "I have to go skate now. Do me a favor?"

"What's that?"

"Sit in the bleachers and watch me. And remember that I just swallowed." He kissed Michele wetly on the cheek and exited the broom closet.

Michele slumped back against the wall to catch his breath. His fingers reached up to trace the cheek Seung-gil had kissed. This boy was going to be the end of him.

 

Ten minutes later, Seung-gil scored a personal best.

 

Michele's new place in any ballroom was at the table, usually by himself, swirling a wine glass and brooding as his sister fluttered about the room to dance and laugh and build an entire life without him. His old place in the ballroom until about a year ago was at Sara's side: she used to sit with him at the table to keep him company, and he used to hover around her on the dance floor like a tall bodyguard, flashing his "don't fuck with me, I'm angry and Italian" snarl at any guy who dared to look at her.

Michele would never burden his sister by telling her this, but he felt a phantom pain as he sat alone at the table without her. Half of him had been ripped off, and it would take a while for him to rebuild that half with something new.

"You should be dancing, Mickey."

He glanced up. Sara looked resplendent in a flowy white cocktail dress and a bright smile. A small, sharp pain pierced through him. He'd have to get used to her smiling like that without him.

"Come on!" With one arm, she gestured for him to get up and join her, while her other hand held on to Mila's. His eyes followed down to where their fingers intertwined. How nice that she'd made such a close friend.

"I'm okay. You two go and have fun," Michele insisted before draining his glass of pinot noir.

Sara whispered something to Mila, who nodded and headed back towards the dance floor. Sara sat down next to him. She felt odd and unnatural there, like they were two halves that no longer fit together.

"You're not yourself lately," she said as she put a hand on his shoulder.

Michele shrugged. "You've changed. I'm changing. You said it would be good for us."

"Emil told me you've started seeing someone."

"Not exactly."

She gave him a sad smile. "It was weird having to hear it from him first. I miss when you used to tell me everything." At Michele's silence, she continued: "Does she make you happy?"

"No," he laughed and shook his head. "God, no."

"Hello," came a familiar monotone from behind them. "May I join you?"

Seung-gil didn't wait for a reply before pushing a chair forward and wedging himself between them. Michele and Sara exchanged puzzled glances.

"Good evening, Michele," Seung-gil said. "Nice to see you, Sara, and congratulations on the gold. You skated beautifully."

"Thanks. So did you," she replied.

"Such an elegant and layered theme," Seung-gil continued, resting his chin on his hand. "What inspired you this year?"

Sara's voice faded into the background of Michele's mind as he searched Seung-gil's face: not a single trace of the vulnerable, almost human Seung-gil standing before him in the broom closet. Tonight, he'd seemingly flipped a switch into "well-mannered socialite" mode. Even more jarring than the 180-degree switch was that Seung-gil was turning his charms on Sara and not Michele. What did he want from her?

The non-answer to that came when Seung-gil's fingers found Michele's knee under the table. Michele cleared his throat and looked away, cursing the fact that his wine glass was empty. As Sara talked about listening to a gorgeous rendition of Satie's "Gymnopedie" while walking through a garden in the spring, Seung-gil slowly traced his fingers up Michele's inner thigh. Michele urged himself to get up and walk away, but he felt helpless to the growing ache between his thighs. He stayed rooted to his chair. It was too late now; if he stood up, the bulge in his pants would have been glaringly obvious.

He bit back a sigh of relief when Sara excused herself to go to the ladies' room.

"I take it your sister doesn't know about us?" Seung-gil asked.

"What. The. _Hell_ ," Michele uttered under his breath.

"I was bored, and you're cute when you're twitchy." A glint of mischief flashed as Seung-gil looked at him from the corner of his eye. He carefully moved his hand further up to the front of Michele's pants. The corner of his lip curled up once he felt how hard Michele was. "Ah. You liked it." He waved over a banquet server carrying a tray of champagne flutes and graciously took one of them.

Perhaps the Seung-gil from the other day had been a hallucination. Michele closed his eyes as Seung-gil slowly rubbed him through his pants while taking a sip of champagne.

"You'll pay for this," Michele warned.

 

Michele thought he'd be more cautious about the first time he took his clothes off for someone, but the hot arousal in Seung-gil's dark, widened pupils with every opened button possessed him to shed every bit of clothing as quickly as possible. Anger bubbled up in him again -- he was supposed to punish Seung-gil, not reward him. He lunged forward to pin Seung-gil's wrists to the mattress and strip him one-handed. He claimed Seung-gil's mouth aggressively, dragging his teeth along Seung-gil's lip and tongue. He moved down to Seung-gil's neck, pleased when it vibrated with a helpless moan.

"I'm not your toy," Michele growled against his throat. "Remember that."

Michele sucked harder at the tender flesh, determined to leave a mark. Tonight was probably their last night together until the Grand Prix Final, possibly longer than that if they didn't both qualify, and Michele wanted every man who cast their eyes on Seung-gil to know he'd been claimed.

He moved back up and grinded his hips against Seung-gil's, eliciting a whimper.

"Look at me," he commanded as he reached one hand down between them. "Keep your eyes on me."

Seung-gil opened his eyes. Up close, Michele could see every detail, every twitch of a facial muscle as he stroked them both. Would Seung-gil make that same face if Michele were inside him?

"You like this," Michele observed.

Seung-gil nodded through a shuddery breath.

Michele watched the growing flush in Seung-gil's face and neck, heard his breath quicken as he got closer. He'd never seen anything more arousing than Seung-gil with his arms pinned above his head, struggling to look Michele in the eye while teetering on the brink of an orgasm. If Michele had better self-control, he would have drawn it out, although if he had better self-control he probably wouldn't have been in Seung-gil's hotel room in the first place.

He worked his wrist faster until Seung-gil bucked his hips and cried out, barely able to keep his eyes open through his orgasm. Michele watched each part of his face, wanting to etch every twisted, hot, beautiful detail into memory. He stroked himself and closed his eyes, picturing what it would be like to bury his cock deep inside of him, to thrust mercilessly and fill him up with his come. The very thought of it pushed him past the brink. Michele buried his face in Seung-gil's neck and let the shocks pulse through him. The world around him reduced to only the sounds of their breathing and the light tickle of Seung-gil's fingers tracing circles on his shoulders.

Once Michele regained his senses, he became acutely aware of the sticky mess between their bodies. He reluctantly peeled himself off of Seung-gil to fetch some washcloths from the bathroom. On his way back, he stopped to admire his handiwork: Seung-gil stretched out on the bed, naked, breathless, and utterly sated. Light pink streaks marked his wrists. His neck and chest were covered in bite marks. His face glistened with sweat while his stomach was striped with their come.

He sat down by Seung-gil's bedside to wipe down his body. "You doing okay?"

"You're so --" Seung-gil coughed. "God. You're so _hot_ when you're angry."

"You freak," Michele laughed. "Is this why you keep finding new ways to piss me off?"

Seung-gil hummed. "No. That's not a bad idea, but I really was just bored," he said. "I've gotten used to being the dirty little secret, so over time I've found ways to amuse myself."

"Hey, you're not a…" Michele trailed off, unable to find a way to end that sentence that wasn't utter bullshit.

"Calm down, I never said I had a problem with it. I prefer my hot Italian ass without a side of closeted Catholic angst, thanks." Seung-gil closed his eyes and nestled his head into a comfortable spot on the pillows.

Michele studied Seung-gil's face as he gently wiped it with a fresh washcloth. He seemed perfectly serene, so perhaps Michele had misheard the odd twinge in "dirty little secret."

"So, uh, how are you feeling, by the way?" Michele asked.

"Hmm?"

"You kind of freaked out the other day."

A long pause. "It was a momentary lapse," Seung-gil finally said. "My analytical nature benefits me most of the time, but occasionally I overthink things. Losing badly at the last Grand Prix adds a 1.5 anxiety multiplier, as does having a coach who frequently likes to remind me that I carry the weight of Korea on my shoulders. Fun distractions like you are a 2-point anxiety deduction, so thank you," he added with a slow grin, his eyes still closed.

"You could actually _talk_ to me next time instead of mauling me in a broom closet, you know."

"But isn't mauling you more fun?"

"I was worried about you," Michele admitted before he could think better of it. He fidgeted with the washcloth in his hands. "And it helps to have someone to talk to. I used to have Sara. Lately, my skating has been kind of weird because I still have to get used to her keeping her distance from me. And there's only so much I can tell Emil, since he's friends with her too." Although Michele didn't expect a reassuring response, being met with silence stung. He let out a sharp exhale. "Christ. I get that my problems are boring, but would it kill you to be a little…"

When he turned around, he found Seung-gil fast asleep. Gone were the perfectly controlled deadpan expressions, carefully measured smirks, and rare flashes of panic. In their absence, his face looked utterly peaceful. Unaware of the world in ways someone that smart never could be awake. The space on the bed next to him looked so inviting, but Michele didn't want to ruin the memory by waking up to a long, condescending explanation from Seung-gil about his need for alone time and his personal rule of never letting hookups spend the night because it was "too intimate" or whatever.

Michele got up from the bed and quietly dressed himself. Then, he walked back over to pull the covers over Seung-gil. He cursed the little heart-tug he felt as he watched the slow rise and fall of Seung-gil's chest under the blankets. He reached down to gently brush the hair away from Seung-gil's forehead.

"You are such a pain in the ass," he whispered.

 

2 a.m. walks of shame were so overrated. Michele belatedly remembered to tuck in his shirt after he'd snuck out into the hallway. As he smoothed back his hair, he silently prayed that Emil was either sleeping like the dead in their hotel room or partying it up elsewhere in Beijing.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard the rumble of the ice machine, followed by footsteps. He looked left and right but found nowhere to hide.

"Mickey?"

His brain took a second to piece together the visual: dark unruly hair, two colors of smudged lipstick, ice bucket, bottle of prosecco, and a Russia jacket over a wrinkled lavender cocktail dress. "Sara?"

Their eyes widened like mirror-images of each other's horror.

"I needed to use the bathroom. In the lobby," Michele blurted out. "I mean, uh. Emil takes forever in the shower and I really had to go, so."

"Yeah. And I needed to get some ice because…uh…Mila has a fever. I should go!" She whizzed past him, a blur of Russian flag colors and sparkly lavender.

His brows knitted as he watched Sara disappear down the hallway. Sara had worn a white cocktail dress at the gala, not a lavender one. He vaguely remembered seeing that color on Mila. "They must be really good friends," he said to himself, shrugging.

 

He tiptoed into the hotel room and tried to find his way in the dark when the light clicked on. Emil sat at his bed with his arms crossed. His faux-stern expression gave way to a huge proud-papa smile as he stood up and clapped. "My dude. My _dude_. Am I the best wingman ever or what?"

"But I still haven't found my chill."

"But you got to smang it, right?" Emil gestured in Michele's direction. "I'd totally hug you, but you've got this weird just-fucked aura going on right now so I'll just stay over here and high-five you with my brain."


	4. Nobody's Fuckboy

Once he finally convinced himself that it was okay to watch gay porn (instead of shamefully focusing on the male participant in straight porn like he'd done for the last decade), Michele made a semi-regular habit of it. The handsome, sweaty, naked men distracted him from staring at an empty text box and wondering what to say. While he wasn't quite ready for Grindr yet, the variety on his laptop screen served as a helpful reminder that he had options. He could have fun like the men in the videos if he wanted to.

But every time Michele closed his laptop and quickened his strokes, his stupid unhelpful brain pictured Seung-gil doing things to him like the men in the videos.

Michele stained his hand white and then rushed to his bathroom sink to fastidiously scrub his hands raw like a proper Catholic. Once he was back in bed, he checked his phone. The notification bar was empty.

He planted his face into the pillow. “You are such a pain in the ass,” came his muffled whine.

 

“How do I make myself fall in love with someone who's not a pain in the ass?” Michele asked while running alongside Emil through the neighborhood park. Soliciting dating advice from his weird best friend who thought Tinder was the best place to find true love didn't make for an ideal morning run, but Michele welcomed the chance to avoid listening to Emil rave about the latest cold-pressed wheatgrass quinoa kombucha whatever that they just _had_ to try.

“Hookup Girl playing hard-to-get?”

“Yeah, but apparently that's normal. Maybe hookups just aren't for me.”

“A blind dog could have figured out that hookups aren't for you, Mickey,” Emil chuckled.

“And yet it's so hard to quit.”

“I know that feel.” Emil nodded sympathetically. “Few things worse than a horrible person who rocks your world in bed.”

“She’s not horrible.” After a brief pause: “Well, not _completely_ horrible.”

“And therein lies the problem.”

“Yes,” Michele replied. “There are so many walls around this not-completely-horrible person, but sometimes, for a split-second, the walls come down. And for some weird reason, it…makes me want to be there for her.” He stopped in his tracks to bury his face in his hands. “God, listen to me. I sound stupid,” he groaned. “Does this always happen to people after a hookup? I feel like my brain is upside down.”

“Feelings: the true STD,” Emil said sagely.

“I have _feelings?_ That's what this is? _”_ Michele squeaked at the diagnosis. The soft sunlight through the trees and the melody of birds chirping had never felt so unwelcome.

“You've got it pretty bad, my dude.”

“How do I get rid of them?” he begged, shaking Emil by the shoulders. “I'll do anything.”

“Have you tried telling her how you feel?”

“Um.”

He would do _almost_ anything.

“Mickey, it's only the easiest and most obvious solution to your problem,” Emil chided.

“I can't.” He couldn't even tell Emil that “her” was actually “him.” He took off running again, pounding the pavement hard enough in the hope that the burn in his thighs would adequately distract from the sudden pang of guilt.

“Why not?” Emil asked, annoyingly not out of breath at all even as he kept pace with Mickey.

“She hasn't texted me at all since I last saw her.” A flimsy excuse, but technically not untrue.

“So what, you're gonna wait until her next ‘wyd?’ text at 2 a.m. the next time you two are in the same town?”

“I guess so.”

Emil clapped a hand on his shoulder to stop him from running. He pulled Michele around until they were facing each other. “Mickey, listen to me: you are nobody's fuckboy. You have feelings, you care for people, and that's _awesome_. If Hookup Girl won't let you be there for her, I promise you somebody else will.”

 

“Come to my room.”

The four words Michele had longed to hear for weeks finally escaped Seung-gil’s champagne-laden mouth, and all Michele had to do was say “yes.”

Until this point, the GPF gala had been excruciating. Half an hour ago, he sat helplessly while every muscle in him ached to walk across the ballroom to where Seung-gil was being quietly berated by his coach. Michele felt lucky to squeak into the finals at all, but in the eyes of Seung-gil’s coach, being the sixth best male figure skater in the world was an absolute embarrassment. Seung-gil remained stone-faced as she spoke. He nodded politely every few seconds and waited until she was gone to drain his champagne glass.

Michele almost stood up when Seung-gil locked eyes with him. The shame in his face fell away, leaving that same mask Michele had seen at the last banquet: a confident smirk and nothing behind the eyes. Michele squared his shoulders as Seung-gil walked towards his table. He had a few choice words in mind: kind ones about Seung-gil’s performance, less kind ones about his coach. But his thoughts were interrupted when Seung-gil uttered those four words: “Come to my room.”

Michele looked up. All he had to do was say “yes” to feel him again. All he had to do was say “yes” to play the twisted white knight, the bastion of sanity, the “two-point anxiety deduction.” All he had to do was say “yes” to be there for Seung-gil in the only way Seung-gil would let him.

All he had to do was say “yes,” because “come to my room” was secretly code for “I need you,” and feeling needed was so fucking addictive.

“No,” Michele said.

“No?”

“I'm not what you need,” he said. He struggled to get the words out, the wind having been knocked out of him from having to say “no” for once. “I don't want you to deal with shit alone, but…I can’t help you like this.” He got up to join Emil and Sara on the dance floor. As he nodded his head to the music, he tried not to think about the flash of hurt he saw in Seung-gil's eyes as he walked away.

A hand touched his shoulder. He turned around and saw Sara’s concerned face. “You okay?”

He stopped to think about the question. After a few moments, he nodded slowly. “I will be.”

She smiled at him, worry still knotting her eyebrows, and turned back to dance with Mila.

Once she was out of earshot, Emil sidled up to him and threw an arm around his shoulders. “So, did you tell her how you feel?”

“Yes and no,” Michele sighed. “She probably never wants to see me again.”

 

He had barely gotten out of the shower when he heard loud knocking on his hotel room door. “Wrong room,” he yelled. “I didn’t order anything.”

The knocking continued, louder and faster than before. Michele huffed and threw on a shirt. He continued to dry his hair with a towel as he pulled the door open to see – “No.”

Seung-gil stood at his doorstep wearing a white shirt, pajama pants, and an uncertain expression.

“No,” Michele said as he tightened his grip on the doorknob to close the door again. “Go find somebody else. I'm sure there are a ton of guys out there who are more than happy to be your distraction, your chew toy, whatever you're calling it this week--”

“There isn't anyone,” Seung-gil said to the floor.

Michele's hand stopped halfway through closing the door. “What did you just say?”

Seung-gil wrapped his arms around himself, looking anywhere but at Michele. His brows knotted as he struggled to get the words out. “There isn't anyone else I want to spend time with.”

Michele stared at him for a long moment. “You didn’t text me once this entire time.”

Seung-gil raised an eyebrow. “You left the room before I woke up, and _you_ never texted _me._ ”

They stared at each other for a few minutes. Finally, Michele let out a long, drawn-out sigh and stepped aside. “No funny business,” he warned. “I mean it. All our clothes stay on.”

Seung-gil nodded quietly and walked past him. He sat down on one corner of the bed and pulled his knees up to his chest.

Michele picked up the blanket and draped it over Seung-gil's shoulders before sitting down next to him. “Do you want to talk about it?” Michele asked.

“Not yet.”

“You were amazing out there.”

“My coach doesn't think so.”

“You need a new coach.”

Seung-gil pressed his lips in a thin, flat line and stared hard at the floor. Michele tentatively reached out a hand towards Seung-gil's shoulder, wanting to touch, to reassure, but afraid that if he made contact Seung-gil would either crumble to dust or bite his hand off. He pulled his hand away, raking his fingers through his own hair.

He withstood Seung-gil's silence patiently, although “patiently” by Michele's standards was all of two minutes.

“I've been watching gay porn,” he blurted out.

Seung-gil blinked. “What?”

“I don't know. You and I started doing, uh, _stuff_ , and you're a guy, and it's…helping me be more okay with liking guys, I think.”

Seung-gil let out a laugh so tiny and brief it was almost imperceptible. Michele wished he could slow time to see it better. “Um. Thanks for telling me that?” Seung-gil said. “… _Why_ are you telling me that?”

“Because for all the headaches this whole thing with you has caused me, something good came out of it,” Michele replied. “Maybe now I can watch _Magic Mike_ without having to pause 20 minutes in to take a cold shower while reciting ten Ave Marias.”

Seung-gil snorted. He quickly looked down and covered his mouth, but the shaking in his shoulders gave him away. His face had finally come to life, and Michele warmed inside knowing he had a hand in it.

“I like making you laugh,” he said.

“You're…very straightforward.”

Michele shrugged. “Can't help it.”

“I hated _Magic Mike._ The romance fell flat and the plot was preachy and simplistic.”

“Nobody watched _Magic Mike_ for the plot, you weirdo.”

Seung-gil reached back to grab the pay-per-view menu off the night stand. His lip curled up after scanning it for a minute. “Ah. Yes.”

Michele squinted. “I know that look. I don't like that look. What are you up to?”

Seung-gil leaned over close enough that Michele could inhale the light scent of his shampoo. He showed Michele the menu, his index finger hovering over the title _Magic Mike._ “Challenge yourself,” he dared. “Let's see if you can sit still for 90 minutes to finally win a game of chicken with this movie.”

“I regret this entire conversation.”

Sitting through the movie wasn't the difficult part. In fact, Michele found it far more enjoyable than his panicked, deep in denial 17-year-old self did when the movie first came out. The difficult part was watching it while sharing a blanket with Seung-gil, who was nestled against his shoulder. Michele kept his hands in his lap and repeated the words _don't touch, don't touch, don't touch_ in his head.

Seung-gil's hand, perhaps out of force of habit, found its way to Michele's knee. And Michele, perhaps out of force of habit, relaxed into the touch until he realized the danger of physical contact. In an instant, he stood bolt upright and backed up several feet away. “Whoa, _foul_!” he yelled. “I said no funny business!”

“What is up with you? I wasn't trying to do anything.”

“I can’t take any risks. I'm --” He stopped short of actually saying “nobody's fuckboy” out loud. He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“How are you somehow _more_ panicky now that you're only half a virgin?”

“I'm not cut out for hookups,” Michele admitted. He felt lighter on the inside as soon as he uttered the words. “Growing up, I was saving myself for marriage. And even if that’s kind of changed, I still want my first time to be with someone who shares my feelings. So I'm going to wait.”

“You're serious? You're re-taking a vow of chastity?”

“Yes, I'm serious.” Michele sat back down next to him and looked him in the eye. “I’ll be your friend, but I will never have sex with you.”

“I see. A born-again virgin, huh.” Seung-gil looked him up and down, a light flush coloring his cheeks.

“That _turns you on_?” Michele asked, incredulous.

“No,” Seung-gil lied.

“You are unbelievable.”

“Probably,” Seung-gil conceded, nestling back into Michele's side. Michele gingerly wrapped an arm around his shoulders. He could handle the contact. After all, he was just taking care of a friend who was going through a hard time, nothing more. On screen, Magic Mike and his leading lady argued their way through a contrived third act misunderstanding, their heated words far less memorable than the scent of Seung-gil's shampoo and the warmth of his skin. The redemption arc faded into the background of Michele's mind, the edges of the screen blurring until --

“Hey,” came Seung-gil's whisper.

“Mm?”

“I don't know if falling asleep through the movie counts as winning, but I'll allow it.” Seung-gil stood up. “Thanks for, um, being there. I feel slightly better.”

“Good.”

“I should go to bed.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Seung-gil didn't move an inch from where he stood. He pulled the blanket around himself.

Michele stared at him. “Do you want to stay?”

“No. I don't know.”

“I'm gonna go brush my teeth while you make up your mind.”

About fifteen seconds into brushing his teeth, he heard footsteps entering the bathroom. He held out the spare hotel toothbrush behind him and felt Seung-gil take it from his hand.

As they shut the lights off and settled into bed, Michele felt Seung-gil's back press up against him. Michele hesitantly settled into the big spoon position, resting an arm over Seung-gil. Just friends, he reminded himself. Tomorrow afternoon, he'd be on a plane back to the other side of the planet. He just had to endure one more night, after which they wouldn't see each other again until Worlds.

Seung-gil squirmed, his ass rubbing up against the front of Michele's pajamas.

“Hey,” Michele grunted.

“I'm just getting comfortable. It's a new bed, I'm not used to it.”

As Michele closed his eyes and tried to will away his growing erection, he felt another grind, more slow and deliberate this time.

 _“Hey._ Are you trying to seduce me?”

In the dark, he saw the outline of Seung-gil's cheek curve up into a smile.

Michele grabbed Seung-gil's hip. He grinded forward, rubbing his cock against Seung-gil's ass through the fabric of their pajamas and eliciting a whimper. He grinded again, deepening the motion until Seung-gil gasped. He dug his fingers into Seung-gil’s hip and leaned forward to growl in his ear: “Go to sleep.”

He let go and rolled over onto his back, grinning as Seung-gil tugged the blanket over himself with a barely concealed huff.

 

In the morning, the sound of zippers and rustling clothes roused Michele. He stretched out his arms and felt only empty space on Seung-gil’s side of the bed. He took a deep breath – the pillows still smelled like Seung-gil’s shampoo. He rolled over towards the direction of the noise, blinking blearily until the not-unwelcome sight of Seung-gil and his rumpled hair came into focus. He was on his knees in front of Michele’s open suitcase, neatly folding clothes.

“What are you doing?” Michele asked.

“Checkout is in half an hour and you sleep like the dead. I figured I could load you and your suitcase onto the bell cart and throw you into a cab.”

“’Kay, thanks,” Michele yawned. He rolled over and closed his eyes, pulling the sheets around him. He felt a slight dip in the mattress as Seung-gil sat down at the edge of the bed. Moments passed in silence.

“Are you staring at me?” Michele murmured, eyes still closed.

“Why do you want to be friends with me?”

“That's random.”

“Nobody's asked to be friends with me without some ulterior motive,” Seung-gil added.

“I don't know,” Michele said. “You're dealing with shit. Nobody should have to deal with shit alone.”

After a long pause, Seung-gil said, “I've never actually spent the night with someone before. I didn't entirely hate it.”

“Yeah, I could get used to this,” Michele mumbled. Then his eyes shot wide once the words sank in. “Platonically. I meant platonically.”

 

 _Platonically. Platonically. Platonically._ The words echoed in his head as he stood at the luggage carousel. Being friends was the perfect solution. He could totally handle being just friends. Michele needed new friends, anyway. His contact list, which currently only contained Emil, had plenty of room for a new friend. A crazy-making, rageboner-inducing, nice-smelling, strangely adorable new friend.

He felt a sharp sting when Emil flicked his forehead. “Ow! The fuck?”

“Keep frowning like that and you’ll get wrinkles.”

“Thanks, _mom_ ,” Michele grumbled, rubbing the sore spot between his eyebrows. He looked back at Emil, who smiled and said nothing. “What?”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, Mickey, but watching you fall in love is incredibly entertaining.”

“I am not—”

Emil reached forward and hoisted a familiar black-and-purple suitcase off the carousel. He pushed it towards Michele with an annoyingly smug grin. “Your suitcase passed you by on the carousel at least three times now.”

Michele wrested his suitcase from Emil’s grip and flipped him the bird, which only made Emil burst out laughing.

“I take it things went well after the banquet?”

“We’re friends,” Michele said curtly.

Behind him, Sara giggled at her phone screen, oblivious to their entire conversation. Michele peered over expecting to see Mila's name and instead found: “Seung-gil?”

“This boy is ridiculous. He’s been texting me non-stop since the Cup of China banquet.”

Michele’s blood began to bubble in his veins. “What the hell?”

“He only wants me now that I'm over him.” She grinned as she shook her head. “Mila was right, he's a total fuckboy.”


	5. Shots Fired

Although Michele would never know the extent of Seung-gil’s text conversations with Sara, he found out that Seung-gil had at some point hounded her for Michele’s Snapchat handle. Upon opening the first snap he received from Seung-gil, Michele was greeted by the dewy vision of Seung-gil’s torso, a white towel slung low on his hips. Remembering that Sara and Emil were right across the table, he reflexively shielded the screen with his free hand while typing.

 ** _Michele:_** _OH COME ON_  
_**Seung-gil:** What?_  
_**Seung-gil:** You were upset when I didn’t text you. Now I’m texting you. Happy?_  
_**Michele:** you couldnt just say “hi” like a normal person?_  
_**Seung-gil:** Don't friends share parts of their day with each other? I had a relaxing shower and I wanted to let you know about it_  
_**Seung-gil** : Because you are my friend_  
_**Seung-gil** : And I am sharing this part of my life with you_

 “Have you ever wanted to throw your phone across the room and yet hang on to it forever at the same time?” Michele asked.

“Can't say that I have,” Emil replied between sips of coffee. “What’s going on?”

“Well…” Michele frowned at his phone. “Is it normal for friends to send each other dirty pictures?”

Sara threw her phone in her purse like it had just caught fire. “That’s super weird, who would do such a thing.”

 

Maturity wasn’t something Michele was ever known for. As soon as he got back to his bedroom, he threw off his shirt and fell backwards onto the bed. He took his phone out and held it up above him, stopping for a moment when he saw himself on the camera screen. His selfie reflection narrowed his eyes at him as he remembered that normal friends don’t do this. On the other hand, Seung-gil was being a shithead and Michele gave as good as he got. He snapped a few photos, tan skin on dark sheets. After editing it just enough that it could still pass for #nofilter, he sent the best one to Seung-gil with the caption _fuck you_.

 **_Seung-gil:_ ** _I mean, I would, but you already knew that.  
**Michele:** damn it seung-gil that’s not what i meant_

A week later, Michele received a snap of Seung-gil bent over, ass in the air in front of a studio mirror. _Getting ready for practice,_ the caption read. _Stretching is important!_

Michele responded the next day with an indoor pool selfie, water droplets running down his broad shoulders and glistening abs.

That evening, Seung-gil sent a snap of himself suggestively sucking on the end of a large biscotti stick _(“I love having big Italian things in my mouth”)_. Michele opened a separate chat window to message Emil.

 ** _Michele:_** _hey meme lord, i need that table flip emoji asap  
**Emil:** i gotchu fam (_ _╯_ _°□°_ _）_ _╯_ _︵_ _┻━┻_

After copying and pasting the emoji, he received the following response:

 **_Seung-gil:_ ** _LOL. Does this mean I win?  
**Michele:** hell no i’m not done_

He needed to come up with _the_ snap, a snap so sexy that it would blow Seung-gil’s mind and force him to admit defeat. As he thought of ideas, he pressed on the camera icon, only to have his idea train come to a screeching halt at what he saw on his phone screen.

“Why are you smiling?” he asked himself. “Stop smiling. Shit.”

 

The idea finally hit him two days later. The Snap was deceptively simple: a shot from the stomach down, where the well-defined V of his torso trailed down into unbuttoned half-zipped jeans. His left hand, adorned by his favorite wristwatch, pushed down some of the denim. Not enough to reveal anything, but enough to give the idea of what lay underneath.

 ** _Seung-gil:_** _Uh. Wow. Okay. You win._  
_**Michele:** i guess i was kind of inspired_  
_**Michele:** …by the thought of defeating you, i mean_  
_**Seung-gil:** Hah_

 

A disappointing showing at Worlds prompted Michele to feign illness to his coach and skip the gala. He stepped outside the hotel and stretched his arms, savoring the feel of his very-much- _not-_ a-suit oversized slogan tee (“You’re so basic,” Emil sniffed the first time he saw Michele’s t-shirt collection).

“You’re so basic,” came a voice from behind him. Sitting cross-legged on a bench, Seung-gil smirked without looking up from his phone.

“Hi.”

“I liked the V,” Seung-gil said. “Not that anyone can see it given that banal shirt you’re hiding it under.”

Michele squared his shoulders. “I do what I want.” He sat down next to Seung-gil at a respectably distance. “Congratulations on making history. Shouldn’t you be inside celebrating?”

“It’s still not a medal.”

“What? You’re the highest-ranked skater in South Korean history.”

“Still not a medal. You forget who my coach is.”

“You forget that you need a new coach,” Michele retorted. “Go inside. Be happy. I have a reason to bail, you don’t.”

“I’ve been a bit distracted this evening.” Seung-gil turned his phone over in his hands, then tapped and swiped on it a few times before showing the screen to Michele. The photo showed a handsome Korean man around Seung-gil’s age holding hands with his beautiful bride.

“Expensive-looking wedding,” Michele noted.

“My high school sweetheart just got married. To _his_ high school sweetheart.”

Michele took a second to do the math. His eyes widened. “Well, shit.”

“We met in orchestra. He played cello. I was first violin.” Seung-gil pocketed his phone. “Today would have been our fourth anniversary, although I don’t know if he even remembers.” He smiled ruefully as he looked at Michele. “I’ve always been the dirty little secret.”

“I’m so sor—”

“Please don’t say you’re sorry. It’s not a big deal. Honestly,” Seung-gil spat. “You know the one thing I’m salty about? She played piccolo. I was _first_ _goddamn violin_ in addition to being an athlete with an ass to die for and she played the fucking piccolo so clearly there’s no accounting for taste.”

“You’re right. Your ex is a complete idiot.” Michele pointed two thumbs at himself and grinned sheepishly. “I guess that means you have a type?”

Seung-gil stared at him. A small chuckle escaped his lips. Then another, and another, until it devolved into a full-blown laughing fit. “Oh god, it’s true,” he wheezed, hanging on to Michele’s shoulder for support. “So many idiots.”

Michele patted him on the back. “One of these days, you’ll have better taste in men.”

“Let’s hope so.”

Michele looked at him for a second, then stood up and grabbed Seung-gil’s wrist. “Come on.”

“Where are you taking me?” Seung-gil asked.

“The business center.”

“Kinky.”

 

Michele dashed out of the cab, a large hotel envelope tucked under his arm. “Here we are,” he said, looking up at the carnival gates. “It closes in a couple of hours, but that should be all we need.”

“If you say so.” Seung-gil trailed behind Michele as he sprinted towards the shooting gallery.

Michele handed the attendant the envelope, a roll of tape, and a wad of cash. Upon peering at the envelope’s contents, the attendant raised an eyebrow and looked at him like he was crazy. Then she handed him one of the toy shotguns before walking off towards the moving targets.

“Two minutes,” Michele said, brandishing the shotgun.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Sometimes. I’m also a good shot. I’m responsible for 95% of Sara’s giant stuffed animal collection.”

The attendant waved them over. As Michele took aim, Seung-gil marveled at the sight before them: taped over each moving target were enlarged printouts of his ex’s douchiest Facebook photos, as well as the wedding photo he’d been looking at all day. Without warning, Michele shot down the most LinkedIn-looking one.

“Loser!” he yelled. Between each subsequent shot, he gritted out: “Missed out – on first violin – Korea’s top skater – ass to die for – straight-A student – 100% husband material, probably!”

Seung-gil carefully avoided eye contact with the attendant as he hid a grin behind one hand.

Michele held out the shotgun. “Your turn.”

“Look away,” Seung-gil insisted.

Michele obediently turned around. “Don’t feel bad if you’re not as good as I am! Nobody is.”

“It’s not that,” Seung-gil snorted. “I’ve never been to a theme park before.”

The first two shots audibly missed. The third accompanied the sound of a target falling backwards.

“Fuck you!” Seung-gil hissed as he landed another shot. “And you too, you talentless, piccolo-playing, no-ass-having nobody!” The fourth and fifth shot missed, while the sixth downed a target. “Enjoy your _mediocre_ lives together – Michele, help me, I need to shoot down these shitty pictures more efficiently!”

“Anyone ever tell you that you’re kind of hot when you’re angry?” Michele teased as he walked up behind Seung-gil. After analyzing his aim, Michele reached around and wrapped his hands around Seung-gil’s to guide his grip on the shotgun. Just to help a friend out, Michele told himself, but he couldn’t help the slight sense of relief upon feeling Seung-gil’s heart beating nearly as fast as his own.

 

As they walked around the carnival sharing a stick of cotton candy, Michele took Seung-gil’s hand. Seung-gil looked up questioningly at him.

“He never held your hand in public, so I will,” Michele declared. “You deserved better.”

Before Seung-gil could respond, a single firework lit the night sky. Cheesy music blared over the speakers as four more fireworks followed in its wake, blossoming in unison.

“Oh right, there’s usually a fireworks show before the park closes,” Michele explained. “We might as well stick around.”

Although the show grew more colorful by the second, drawing oohs and aahs from the crowd, Michele could barely focus once he felt the hand around his squeeze. Next to him was a sight that made his heart leap: fireworks danced in Seung-gil’s eyes as he gazed up at the sky in childlike wonder.

“Wow,” Seung-gil whispered.

“Yeah, wow,” Michele said absently, not taking his eyes off of him.

After the last, biggest firework spread multicolor sparks across the sky, their eyes met. Michele caught his breath.

“I had fun tonight,” Seung-gil said.

“Me too.”

“I wouldn’t mind doing something like this again the next time we see each other.”

“Right. Next time.” The strange, jumpy feeling in his chest gave way to a twinge of pain when he remembered that he wouldn’t get see that face for another seven months.

Seung-gil leaned closer to whisper. “Look, I know this is crazy, but…”

Michele gulped. “Yes?”

“I’m glad we’re friends.”

 

“It’s totally normal,” Emil assured him as they rolled their suitcases through the hotel lobby. “Every millennial has at least one friendship with unconventional boundaries.”

“Do you?”

“Well, no. But I’m weird.” Emil shrugged. “Anyway, if the friendship makes you happy, that’s all that matters.”

“Unfortunately, I think it does,” Michele said. “I have no idea why.” They stopped to wait in line while Christophe Giacometti and his well-dressed boyfriend checked in.

Grand hotel lobbies were so exciting to 17-year-old Michele, who yearned to see the world. They exhausted him at 22. Barely a month after Worlds, he was on the road, in the air, and in unfamiliar beds again as part of the Wonders on Ice summer tour. _Twenty-five cities in three months_ , he thought as he rubbed his eyes.

When 17-year-old Michele imagined the happily ever after he would one day share with The One, he never pictured her as a figure skater. She would be a normal girl with a normal job, perhaps a kindergarten teacher. Christophe had the right idea dating a businessman – someone who could occasionally travel with him, but also someone to come home to. Although Michele’s imaginary The One may have no longer been a red-haired girl but a blurry figure with male anatomy, he still wanted someone who could be a source of stability in his life, especially once he retired from skating.

“It sounds like you’ve got the best of both worlds,” Emil said. “Companionship with a safety net. Since you can’t be together physically, things don’t have to get messy.”

Michele nodded. Without Seung-gil in the way for the next three months, maybe he could finally meet that special someone. A handsome kindergarten teacher in Berlin, or a charming kindergarten teacher (Michele’s fantasies weren’t especially creative) in Shanghai. And once he found true love, things between him and Seung-gil would stop being weird and they could finally enjoy a normal friendship.

“I think I’m ready,” Michele said.

“Hm?”

“You said there was someone out there for me. I think I should try to look for that person.”

“Hell yes, my dude!” Emil clapped him on the back. “The world is your oyster, and I am so ready to help you find that person. It’s gonna be a spectacular summer.”

As Emil stepped forward to check in at the front desk, Michele heard the doors slide open. He looked over to see a majestic husky walk into the lobby. Behind it strode its well-dressed owner, phone in one hand and leash in the other. A sinking feeling grew in the pit of Michele’s stomach once he realized the owner strongly resembled a certain Korean skater with a penchant for driving certain high-strung Italian virgins crazy.

“It’s gonna be a horrible summer,” Michele muttered as he hid his face behind one hand.


	6. True Love Waits

“Are you stalking me?” Michele hissed as Seung-gil and his dog lined up behind them. The husky observed Michele with the same expressionless countenance as her owner, although she wagged her tail.

“You wish I was stalking you. Ji-hyun, sit,” Seung-gil ordered. “We don’t decide we like strangers before we get to know them.”

The dog obeyed but continued to look up at Michele. Without breaking eye contact with Seung-gil, Michele crouched down to scratch Ji-hyun between the ears. She wagged her tail more fervently in response. “Maybe we can’t help who we like,” Michele teased.

“No accounting for taste,” Seung-gil huffed. “Anyway, I’m here because Sara’s pairs partner twisted his ankle in practice, and touring Europe for the summer sounded kind of fun.”

“It’s weird how close you’re getting to my sister.”

“Sara is a sweet, funny girl.” He peered at Michele over his sunglasses. “And how else could I get a steady stream of embarrassing information about you?”

“You really are stalking me.”

“Mickey! No time like the present,” Emil chirped from behind them. With a flourish, he presented Michele with his room key. “Ready to meet the love of your life?”

 

Strobe lights in various colors pulsed rhythmically over a sea of beautiful, sweaty bodies. Smiles, sultry glances, and glow-in-the-dark bracelets lit up the dance floor. Amidst this beautiful, swaying sea of people stood a lone, scowling figure unmoved by the music. Michele shot a death glare at his cheerfully oblivious best friend, who was having the time of his life surrounded by a bevy of gorgeous Swedish girls.

Emil had dragged him to the biggest night club in Stockholm, convinced that this of all places was where Michele would find the love of his life. He foisted Michele upon unwitting female clubgoers with a chipper “Haaave you met Mickey?”, vanishing before Michele could even say “Hey wait don’t abandon me.” The girls smiled as soon as they got a good look at Michele and noticed he was hot, but the conversation invariably dried out within minutes, at which point each girl wandered over to Michele’s more lively and charismatic best friend.

Michele squinted at the dizzying, neon-lit crowd. It probably didn’t contain the kindergarten teacher of his dreams.

“You made it!” he heard his sister squeal over the pulsing music. About ten feet away from Michele, Sara threw her arms around Seung-gil. They took a couple of minutes to catch up, Sara speaking with big, excited gestures as Seung-gil nodded and occasionally responded with a half-smile.  “I love this song!” Sara yelled, turning around to dance with Mila. Seung-gil nodded along to the beat and started moving by himself.

Years of attending parties with his sister had sharpened Michele’s unwanted suitor radar. Even in the dim club, his trained eyes zeroed in on a tall blond Swede who looked like he’d just stepped out of a perfume commercial. This total Adonis leered at Seung-gil and started moving closer.

Before Michele could stop himself, his bodyguard reflexes pushed him through the crowd and into Seung-gil’s orbit. He stood two feet from him, close enough to ward off the Adonis but far enough not to give his sister the wrong impression. Seung-gil locked eyes with Michele and kept on dancing, not once breaking their gaze. Seung-gil’s slow, sensual movements humbled Michele and his non-dancing. More than a few clubgoers turned to check him out, awakening a minor urge within Michele to gouge their eyes out. His hand itched to place itself firmly on Seung-gil’s ass as an unequivocal signal to anyone who dared look at him. Michele shoved both hands in his pockets.

A girl behind Michele bumped into him, forcing him even closer to Seung-gil. Too proud to back down, he stared on even as the heat between them grew unbearable. Seung-gil stood so close now, far too close for someone he couldn’t touch. Michele’s pounding heartbeat drowned out the music. Time slowed to a crawl. He could have sworn his ears started buzzing –

Platinum hair glinted under the strobe lights behind Seung-gil. Michele shot the Adonis his patented Crispino Death Glare, but the Adonis only returned it with a blithe smile and moved in on his target.

“Doyouwannagosomewhere,” Michele babbled.

“What?”

Time ran out for Michele as his infuriatingly hot enemy tapped Seung-gil on the shoulder. “Hi. I’m Bjorn.”

“Hi,” Seung-gil replied before turning back to Michele. “What were you saying?”

“Do you, uh.” Michele faltered. They looked so beautiful together. What business was it of his to try to stop that from happening? What if Seung-gil _wanted_ to dance with (or do other things with, but Michele really didn’t want to think about that) this blindingly attractive person who was interested in him?

Michele was only a friend, after all. And a true friend wouldn’t get in the way.

“Nothing. Enjoy your evening,” he said before taking off.

 

Rain poured down outside the club. In his haste to get out, Michele nearly bumped into a line of shivering, scantily-clad clubgoers waiting for a taxi. One girl in a black dress stood away from the line, leaning against a wall with her arms crossed.

He sprinted towards her. “Sara!”

She wore the scowl of the century. “Should I call an Uber or wait for the rain to stop? There’s a triple surge rate right now, but I really don’t want to be here,” she fumed.

“Sara, are you okay?”

“Don’t fall in love if you can help it, Mickey.”

“What? I mean, you’re not wrong, but what?”

“Love makes you stupid and cranky,” she spat. “I want to _destroy_ everyone who even looks at Mil – at the person I’m fu – at the person I like.”

Michele tried not to laugh. Lately, it had been easy to forget that they were twins, but moments like this reminded him. He leaned against a spot next to her on the wall and crossed his arms. “I think I know what that feels like.” He looked out at the rain and the blur of headlights and streetlamps behind it. “Does your person know?”

“Um,” Sara said, because she was definitely his twin. “I don’t know. We never actually talked about it. Stuff just kind of…happened.”

“Happened?”

Sara rested her head on his shoulder. “It’s weird,” she sighed. “It was kind of an accident when it started, but when I look back it all makes perfect sense, you know? She’s always known me so well, and whenever I went out with a guy I always compared him to her.”

“She?” Michele repeated. His mind reflexively calculated the additional effort it would take to protect her from male _and_ female suitors before he remembered that it wasn’t his job to protect her anymore.

“Yeah, um, so I’m in love with a girl.” He felt her shoulder tense up against him.

Michele thought for a moment and then said, “If you like her, then I bet she’s great.”

“She’s amazing, Mickey. I wish I wasn’t such an idiot at this whole thing, but it’s all so new to me – I’d never known what being in love with a girl felt like.”

“It’s okay, I have no idea what it feels like either.”

She blinked up at him. “What?”

“Uh, you know, because I’ve never been in love before,” he coughed.

“Oh. Well, you will be soon, I just know it.” She smiled. “Someone out there is waiting for you.”

“And someone’s waiting for _you_ right now, so what are you still doing out here?” He gripped her shoulders. “Sara. You’re a Crispino. You know what that means?”

“It means we get irrationally mad at everything?”

“No. Well, yes, but what I mean is that when Crispinos know what we want, we go for it.”

“Do you?” Sara countered.

“Uh, sometimes.”

“See what I mean?” she laughed. “What would I even say?”

“Hell if I know, but go get her,” he insisted. “She would be lucky to have you, and if she doesn’t realize that then she’s an idiot.”

Sara smiled at him one more time before taking off as quickly as her five-inch heels would let her. Michele looked up at the rain, which was now coming down so hard that it was impossible to see anything past ten feet. Paying through the nose for an Uber ride or walking two miles in the rain back to the hotel both seemed preferable to watching someone feel up Seung-gil, or vice-versa.

Just as he was about to step out into the rain, a Burberry plaid pattern blocked his view of the sky. He looked over to see who held the umbrella over his head.

“Of course you have a Burberry umbrella,” he sighed. “Of course.”

“You’re welcome.”

Michele looked past him. “Where’s the smokeshow who was all over you?”

“Bjorn was pretty hot, wasn’t he?” Seung-gil said, glancing back at the entrance. “He’s up for a threesome, you know.”

Michele rolled his eyes. “I hope you’re not serious,” he snorted. “Anyway, if you think he’s so hot, why aren’t you in there?”

“Because you’re standing out here,” Seung-gil replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“What? You could be having earth-shattering sex with a supermodel.”

“You’re more fun.”

Michele forked his hands through his hair. “I don’t understand you.”

“What were you doing in that club, anyway? You can’t dance –”

“Shut up.”

“—and you don’t seem like the partying kind.”

“I’m not. Emil’s trying to help me find my special someone, and for some reason he thought a nightclub would be the best place to start.”

“Your friend is not very bright.”

“Emil’s not stupid, he can just be weirdly optimistic sometimes.”

Behind them, two women under a lavender umbrella walked out of the club. Michele recognized Sara’s heels and figured out who her companion was when he spotted a flash of red hair. They stopped and faced each other, standing close. In a second, Sara’s heel lifted ever so slightly.

“Is she comforting my sister because things went badly?” Michele asked. “She’s giving Sara a pep talk, right?”

Seung-gil rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Oh no, he’s stupid.”

“What?”

“Nothing. I think I have a type.” A black sedan rolled up in front of them. “My Uber’s here. Get in.”


	7. Never Give All the Heart

“Like this?”

“Yes.”

“What about this?”

“It all feels good,” Seung-gil hummed.

“But where is it best?”

“A little lower. To the left. Yes, right there.”

“I could do this forever,” Michele said. “But I think my legs are falling asleep.”

“I can take over.”

“Just a few more minutes,” Michele whispered as he scratched Ji-hyun’s belly. She was a heavy puppy, stretched out across Michele’s lap. He hadn’t felt so much warmth around him in a while.

“So a kindergarten teacher, huh?” Seung-gil asked with a half-smile. “Figures.” He took a bite out of the club sandwich he’d ordered from room service.

“Yes, a kindergarten teacher. I want a simple, quiet life, and I want to share it with someone special. Someone who’s sweet and kind and --”

“Uncomplicated.”

“Sure,” Michele conceded. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What do you want for yourself?”

Seung-gil paused. “That’s a good question,” he said. “Nobody’s asked me about what I wanted before.”

“Oh.” At a loss for anything better to say, Michele suggested, “You’d be a good match for an investment banker or something.”

“You sound like my mother.” Seung-gil plucked a shred of turkey out of his sandwich and waved it at Ji-hyun, who promptly jumped off Michele’s lap to chase it. “If she had her way, I’d be married to a reasonably pretty med student from a wealthy family. I could make a calendar out of all the profiles she’s emailed me over the past year. Seoul’s Distinguished Young Ladies 2017.”

“Ladies? Doesn’t she know you like guys?”

“Given the average length of my past relationships – dalliances, really – she assumes it’s never serious. I can’t say I blame her.” He held his sandwich out for Michele, who took a bite. “She means well.”

“So what? Don’t you want her to take your feelings seriously?”

“She can have her expectations. I can ignore them,” he said flippantly. Ji-hyun nuzzled his hand and settled down across his lap. “My system works. I want nothing, I give nothing, and nobody gets hurt.”

“It’s okay to want more, you know,” Michele said.

Seung-gil glanced out the window. “I don’t make the same mistake twice.”

 

The coffee in Michele’s hand provided some much-needed warmth as he made his way to the arena bleachers. He hunched in and pulled his hoodie more tightly around himself. Emil, ever the morning person, waved him over with a smile that was out of place in a dark, freezing cold arena.

“ _Sooomebody_ didn’t come back to the hotel room last night,” Emil singsonged, wiggling his eyebrows. “That is the face of a man who just met the love of his life! I really am the best wingman ever.”

“No, _sooomebody_ was just trying to avoid walking in on you butt naked with some girl from the club,” Michele retorted as he sank into the seat next to Emil’s. It wasn’t a lie, but the truth was more along the lines of somebody falling asleep on Seung-gil’s couch at four in the morning.

“Girl? Which girl?”

“Literally any one of the dozen girls dancing up on you last night.”

“They were into me?” Emil asked, genuinely surprised.

Michele frowned. “You’re so weird.”

“It’s a gift. But enough about me!” He waved his hands at Michele. “Tell me about the person your destiny has brought forth to you. I knew ‘Love in This Club’ was more than just a fairy tale!”

On the ice, Seung-gil and Sara practiced their pairs number for the tour. Her flowy, golden dress recalled the rays of the sun, while he looked breathtaking in midnight blue.

“Is it love if I want to go back in time to find everyone who hurt that person and punch them in the face?”

“Maybe – oh, hold on.” Emil knotted his brows. “You’re still hung up on that long-distance friend, aren’t you? Come on, Mickey, get your head in the game!”

“It’s not long-distance. My friend showed up at the club.”

“No way, maybe it’s meant to be!” He grabbed Michele by his hoodie. “Is she here right now?”

The pair skate choreography evoked a blossoming love between two beings who could never be together. Although Seung-gil’s competitive weakness was a stone-faced demeanor that betrayed his expressive movements, Michele could have sworn he saw a new yearning in those dark eyes. He calmed down the slight hopeful flutter in his heart by considering the possibility that perhaps Sara was just a good teacher.

Emil noticed Michele’s faraway stare and followed his gaze. He winced. “Uh, please don’t tell me you’re in love with your sister.”

“What? No, you moron,” Michele snapped. “I’m not looking at Sara.”

After a moment, Emil said, “Oh.”

“Yeah.” Michele shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Him? This whole time?”

“Yeah.”

“And all that stuff that happ–”

“Yeah,” Michele huffed, his cheeks reddening.

“I gotta say, Mickey,” Emil said, throwing an arm around him, “I knew there was a reason you always sucked at gay chicken.”

 

Handling laser guns while skating wasn’t nearly as hard as keeping a cowboy hat on the entire time. Only Emil could come up with the ridiculous idea of “space western skating duel” for the Wonders on Ice tour, although Michele admittedly couldn’t come up with anything better.

“Bang bang!” Emil yelled as he and Michele headed backstage to thunderous fanfare. As they walked past the locker room mirrors, Michele turned to frown at his reflection, decked out in cowboy chic. Beside him, Emil posed with his laser gun. “They love us, Mickey! Lean into the ridiculousness.”

“You made me an _ice skating cowboy_ ,” Michele seethed. “If I didn’t already know I was gay, this would confirm it.”

“Ooh, does that make me an honorary gay?” Emil set his laser guns down on a bench and sat down to unlace his skates. “Your man’s fanclub is bananas, by the way. I now know his blood type, favorite brand of shampoo, favorite color scarf, rumored girlfriends, celebrity lookalikes, porn lookalikes, and most frequent Starbucks order.”

“First of all, he’s not my man, and second, why are you stalking him?”

“I take my wingman duties seriously! What kind of best friend would I be if I didn’t do a little recon on the object of your manly affections to make sure he’s the right one for you? The Emil Nekola Seal of Approval reduces the chance of heartbreak by 95 percent.”

“Nothing was going to happen, anyway. He only sees me as a friend.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, my dude. That’s not the Mickey I know.” From the arena, the opening chords of Sara and Seung-gil’s number started playing. Emil grinned conspiratorially. “Hey, after we change out of these, do you wanna go scope out his crazy fan club again?”

“We’re doing this purely out of concern for our fellow skater’s safety, right?” Michele asked, although he changed out of his cowboy gear at a much quicker pace.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s totally for a good cause and not at all because it’s hilarious. I’ll bet you ten euros that Madame Batshit is front row again.”

“No way, she was just at the Berlin show two weeks ago!” Michele said as he threw on a shirt. “How much money can one lady waste on watching the same figure skating routines every week?”

“It must be some weird Seung-gil effect.” Emil nudged him with his elbow. “Ooh, what if you end up turning into one of them?”

“Fuck you. Also, put some pants on, we’ll miss the number entirely at the rate you’re going.”

Madame Batshit was a Korean woman in her late forties who had turned up at several Wonders on Ice shows. She sat in the front row amidst other Seung-gil fangirls half her age, although she never interacted with them. Her penchant for heavily caked-on makeup, ornately decorated hair, and a glittery dark blue outfit that was nearly identical to Seung-gil’s skating costume earned her the nickname Madame Batshit from Emil. True to his prediction, she sat in perfect poise in the front row, not once cracking a smile despite the cheers and shrieks from the fangirls around her.

“What do you think she does for a living?” Emil whispered as they peered through the backstage curtains. “She’s clearly got a lot of free time on her hands. Ooh, what if she’s a former figure skater who married rich and is now reliving her glory days?”

“Maybe she just happens to be on vacation in Europe.”

“Too normal,” Emil dismissed. “I have this theory that she runs this underground plastic surgery ring in Europe, and she’s scanning the crowd right now for new clients with loaded parents. Did you know that this one girl on the forums is thinking about getting work done to look more like Seung-gil? I created an account to talk her out of it.”

“Of course you did,” Michele sighed.

The last strings of the song faded as the audience burst into applause and cheers. The second Seung-gil and Sara took their bows, Michele and Emil scrambled away from the curtains and tried to act normal at the opposite corner of the backstage area.

 

“I heard the local Starbucks is open until midnight. Maybe you’ll run into the perfect kindergarten teacher there.” Seung-gil walked up to Michele, duffel bag in tow. Late night eats had become a post-show ritual for the five of them, but Sara, Mila, and Emil often took longer to get ready.

“Very funny. Emil found this allegedly legendary pretzel stand on Yelp, so I guess we’re doing pretzels tonight.”

Blue sequins glinted in the distance. How did Madame Batshit sneak into the backstage area? Michele instinctively stepped in front of Seung-gil to protect him from the ostentatious, glittery, unsmiling threat who was making her way towards him.

“Don’t look now,” Michele whispered, “but there’s a crazy lady heading this –”

“Hello, mother,” Seung-gil said.


	8. Get Used to It

“ _That’s_ your mom? Her?” Michele squeaked as he stepped aside.

“Darling,” Seung-gil’s mother said as they gave each other sterile air kisses. “How delightful to watch you improve every time. That Italian girl is a good influence on you, your skating has become more expressive.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

“Is she from a good family? Perhaps you should court her. She may not be Korean, but you two would have beautiful children.”

Michele clenched his fists at his sides while Seung-gil remained impassive. “I have not courted Sara,” he said, “but she is from a good family. In fact, this is her brother Michele. He’s a fr—”

“Boyfriend.” Michele grabbed Seung-gil’s hand. He deepened his voice. “Very serious boyfriend.” He bowed awkwardly. “It is an honor to finally meet you, Mrs. Lee.” When he got up, he could feel Seung-gil glaring holes into the side of his skull.

“Oh.” She blinked. After a moment, she turned to Seung-gil with a dry smile. “Darling, I had no idea you’d found yourself such a handsome boy.”

“Yes,” Seung-gil replied through gritted teeth as he continued to side-eye Michele. “I have _no idea_ how I did it.”

“I promise to take good care of your son, Mrs. Lee. I’m very serious about him.”

Seung-gil elbowed him. “I think she heard you the first time.”

“Nonsense, darling. If he’s anything like his sister, you’re very fortunate.” She flashed Michele an indulgent smile. “Michele, would you join us for dinner tomorrow?”

 

 ** _Michele:_** _meet me outside the hotel at 11am pls_  
_**Seung-gil:** For what?_  
_**Michele:** it’s an emergency_

“I don’t know what they teach you in Italy, but fashion emergencies are not real emergencies,” Seung-gil grumbled as Michele dragged him out of the Uber and into a high-end department store. “I don’t care what you wear as long as you don’t show up in one of your stupid slogan shirts.”

“This is not about you. This is about me looking good in front of your mom.” Michele spotted the Armani section and began rifling through the racks. “Also, fuck you, I know how to dress up.”

“Then why am I even here?”

“She’s _your_ mother and I want to impress her. Should I go for a white shirt or a black shirt? I’m hoping white conveys the purity of my intentions, but I don’t want to look too wedding-y and desperate.”

Seung-gil groaned and rubbed his temples. “I am in hell. We don’t even fuck and I still have to introduce you to my mother. _And_ I get dragged along on pointless shopping excursions.” He looked up as Michele held out two black shirts for his approval. “Both of those shirts look exactly the same.”

“What? The material and stitching are completely different.” Michele wiggled the hangers. “Look at the way the fabrics swish.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Michele frowned. “How do you not know any of this when you’re so well-dressed all the time? Your Instagram looks like a Vogue photoshoot.”

“My mother picks out all of my clothes,” Seung-gil replied. “They’re from her fashion line. Her designers make my costumes, too.”

Michele frowned even harder. “Okay, we’re getting you a new outfit.” He pulled out his phone. “And I need a second opinion that’s actually useful.”

 

“Are you done?” Michele crossed his arms as he and Seung-gil waited for Emil’s loud guffawing to die down. His useless best friend was doubled over in laughter for the last ten minutes.

“I’m sorry, this is just so great,” Emil wheezed, wiping a tear from his eye. “You’re having dinner with Madame Ba…I mean, Madame Beautiful,” Emil corrected when he saw Michele’s glare, “you know, because she looks so beautiful in blue.”

“Are you saying you’re attracted to my mother?” Seung-gil asked.

“Oh, well, I mean she’s a total MILF, but I’m sure she’s happily married so I will respectfully keep my distance,” Emil said. “So, are you guys an item? This whole meet-the-parents thing is happening so fast.”

“No, Michele lied to my mother about our nonexistent relationship status for no good reason, and now I have to attend a painfully awkward dinner with both of them.” His eyes shot daggers at Michele. “You’re such a _great_ friend.”

“Mickey, why’d you tell her that you’re his boyfriend?”

“Because I wanted her to know that at least one person takes him seriously, even if she doesn’t.” He turned to Seung-gil. “Look, I’m sorry. You can tell her that we broke up, that you stomped on my heart and that I’ll never get over you. I lied because I hoped that she would maybe cut it out with that arranged marriage crap and let you live your life. Maybe even let you pick out your own outfit for once.”

They looked at each other. The awkward silence stretched on until Emil stepped in between them, holding out a purple shirt. “Brings out your eyes?” he offered.

“Isn’t purple a little too flashy for a meet-the-parents dinner?” Michele asked.

“Point.”

“I should go look at some clothes,” Seung-gil said, walking off to a different section of the store.

“You do that,” Emil said. He returned the shirt and picked out another one in a rich red hue.

Michele shook his head. “I’m avoiding red. I don’t want his mom to think I’m only in it for the sex.”

“Of course not.” Emil rolled his eyes and put the shirt back. After a minute, he giggled and pulled out a shimmery gold one that was two sizes two small. “This one says ‘I love letting your son ravage my manflower every night.’”

“Why did I think inviting you here was a good idea?”

“Why did you, honestly? You dress better than I do when you actually put some effort into it.” Emil scoured the racks. Then, his hand stopped. He turned to Michele. “You’re genuinely worried about this, aren’t you?”

“No, I—”

Emil held a hand up. “Say no more, my friend.” He rushed over to another rack and pulled out shirts at double the pace, throwing each one at Michele. “I’ll make sure Madame Batshit deems you more than worthy.”

Michele could barely see his way to the dressing room above the tall pile of shirts in his arms, but he nearly dropped it at the sight of Seung-gil in a rainbow polka-dot shirt and striped lemon yellow pants. “What.”

“What?” Seung-gil asked.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Emil said, “but you get to pick your own clothes for the first time in your life and _this_ is what you go with?”

“She never let me wear patterns or pastels.”

“With good reason,” Emil said, earning himself a sharp elbow to the ribs from Michele. “I mean, great first try! Maybe keep looking until you find something you really love?”

Seung-gil shrugged and headed back into the dressing room.

Michele only took a few tries before settling on a light blue one (“It’s the same color as the trim of his skating costume, so she’ll know you’re the kind of guy that pays attention to the little things,” Emil explained). As they exited the dressing room, they heard Seung-gil clear his throat behind them.

“I like this one.” He wore a short-sleeved navy shirt and paired it with well-fitting salmon pants. The dark fabric of the shirt clung to his torso. Michele almost remembered what it felt like to touch him.

“Uh,” Michele said, unable to peel his eyes away.

Emil leaned in to whisper. “You maybe wanna stop drooling for a second and tell the man how he looks?”

Michele shushed him before looking back at Seung-gil. “You look great.”

 

Meeting the parents was never a strong suit of Michele’s. The first time he and Sara had dinner with the Nekolas, Sara overheard Emil’s mother ask her son why he was so obsessed with befriending “that crabby Italian boy who never cracked a smile.” Since then, Michele looked up etiquette tips on the web in his spare time to prepare himself for the day he would meet his beloved’s parents. Instead, the collective hours of internet searches and practicing in front of the mirror led up to this moment: meeting the possibly batshit mother of his fake boyfriend.

Holding Seung-gil’s hand as they walked towards the restaurant felt far too natural. Too right. Michele squared his shoulders. Having gotten them into this mess in the first place, the least he could do for Seung-gil was be the best fake boyfriend ever.

Mrs. Lee, dressed in classic black, greeted them warmly once they arrived at the table, her smile faltering only slightly when she noticed Seung-gil’s clothes. “I don’t remember picking those for you.”

“No, I chose them.”

“Hm,” she said. Michele couldn’t tell if that was a noise of acceptance or we’ll-discuss-this-later, but she graciously changed the subject before he could wonder about it further. Despite her sartorial strictness, Heesoo Lee was hard not to like; she was charming in the way one would expect the founder of a major Korean fashion label to be. She regaled them with stories about the fangirls who sat around her at Wonders on Ice shows. Sitting amidst the Seung-gil Squad was strategic: Heesoo could make sure her son was safe while also eavesdropping on entertaining conversations. The bizarre cosplay getup helped her blend in with the squad.

“Sometimes, their discussions get a little graphic,” she admitted. “It baffles me. They’re so young!” She grasped her necklace.

“ _Eomma_ ,” Seung-gil sighed. “Please tell me you cover your ears.”

“Of course, darling.” Her eyes trailed down to where Michele’s hand rested atop Seung-gil’s. “I must say, I’ve never seen you hold anyone’s hand before. What makes this boy different?”

Seung-gil took an uncomfortably long pause to think. “He makes me laugh,” he said flatly, staring at Michele. “A lot. Mostly unintentionally.”

“Thanks, babe. Every time you laugh, I fall in love with you all over again,” Michele replied, tone dripping with sweetness. He savored the way Seung-gil’s face twisted into a grimace at the word “babe.”

“I have to ask, Michele,” Mrs. Lee said, “what drew you to my son? Not that there aren’t a multitude of reasons to love him,” she added with an affectionate grin towards Seung-gil, “but you seem so…serious about him.”

He looked over at Seung-gil, who looked back imploringly with widened don’t-fuck-this-up eyes. “Hmm,” Michele said, drawing out the syllable. There were so many ways he could torture Seung-gil with his response.

“You don’t have to say anything if it makes you uncomfortable,” Mrs. Lee said after a moment.

“It’s all right.” He squeezed Seung-gil’s hand and gazed at him with fake-boyfriend adoration. “There are just so many things I love about him, it’s hard to choose.”

Seung-gil groaned and hid his face behind one hand. “Just get on with it.”

“He wasn’t who I thought I wanted initially,” Michele admitted. “I wanted someone uncomplicated. He’s complicated.”

Seung-gil snorted.

“I wanted someone sweet. He can be kind of a jerk. We didn’t get along at first.” Michele flushed slightly at the memory of their initial bickering interspersed with makeout sessions in varying levels of undress.

“What changed?” Mrs. Lee asked.

“He wasn’t the nicest person, but he had this quiet confidence. Nothing scared him. Seung-gil is one of the strongest people I know, Mrs. Lee.”

She beamed. To her left, Seung-gil slowly lowered the hand covering his face, peering out at Michele.

“I was drawn to that strength. I don’t know if he even meant to do this, but he pushed me to accept who I am, even when that was the hardest thing in the world for me at the time.” Michele felt his heart swell upon seeing Seung-gil’s eyes soften. “And, you know, the first time I made him laugh, I realized I wanted to keep doing that for the rest of my life.”

In the middle of a bustling restaurant, silence hung in the air as Michele and Seung-gil looked at each other. Michele broke his gaze to glance down at his plate. Maybe that last sentence was a bit over the top.

“You’re very sweet,” Mrs. Lee said, reflexively filling in the awkward silence. “So, what lies ahead for the two of you? Do you have anything planned?”

“Planned? Uh,” Michele stammered. “I don’t know, I mean, I do want to marry your son eventually but we honestly haven’t thought that far ahead –”

Seung-gil kicked him under the table. “ _Near-term_ future,” he clarified before turning back to his mother. “The next stop on the tour is in Michele’s home country. I’m sure he’s looking forward to showing me his favorite places.”

“Right. Of course! I’ve got it all planned out. I’m keeping it all a secret, though. Seung-gil loves surprises.”

“You do?” Mrs. Lee asked.

“Sure,” Seung-gil sighed. “He’s so good at them.” He stood up. “I’ll let him tell you all about his secret plans while I head to the restroom.”

As soon as he was out of earshot, Mrs. Lee leaned in. “I owe you an apology, Michele. My son hadn’t mentioned you before, so I’ve been trying to find a nice, marriageable girl for him this whole time.”

“It’s okay, you didn’t know.”

She leaned in. “To be honest, I was hoping a woman wouldn’t hurt him as badly as the other men have in the past.” She smiled at him and put a hand on his. “But I’ve seen the way you look at him. I don’t think I have to worry about a thing with you.”

“Oh.” Blood rushed to Michele’s cheeks. The whole fake boyfriend thing was going horribly, horribly wrong.

“My husband still looks at me that way, and we’ve been married 26 years.”

“Great.” He plastered on a smile. “That’s great. So great.”

By the time Seung-gil made his way back to the table, Mrs. Lee had deftly changed the subject. She spoke of her year-long sabbatical after handing over the reins of her company to a new CEO, and how the Wonders on Ice trip conveniently provided two benefits in one: she got to vacation across Europe while supporting her son in an attempt to make up for a handful of missed recitals in his high school days. However, she wouldn’t be able to stay for the entire tour as she had to fly to Pennsylvania to help Seung-gil’s older sister move into her new apartment.

“Jaehee got into Wharton?” Seung-gil asked.

“His sister is humble to a fault,” Mrs. Lee explained to Michele. “She wouldn’t even announce it on Facebook. Darling _,_ you should call her more often.”

He nodded. “I’ll reach out to her.”

“I’m sure she’d love to hear all about your passionate Italian man,” she teased.

_“Eomma!”_

 

They continued to hold hands as they saw Mrs. Lee off at the airport the next day. She kissed Seung-gil on the forehead. “Be good to this one, _adeul,_ ” she told him, angling her head in Michele’s direction. “I haven’t seen you this happy in a long time.”

He reddened. “I’m never sure whether you intend to embarrass me or not, mother.”

“I just like seeing my son happy. That’s all.”

After she had boarded the plane, Seung-gil and Michele awkwardly untangled their fingers. Michele looked away and ran a hand through his hair.

“I take it you’ll be shopping for more clothes at some point?” he asked to fill the silence.

Seung-gil shook his head. “Not much. I like knowing I can choose,” he said, “but my mother has excellent taste.”

“She does.”

Seung-gil pulled out his phone. “Can I tell her I caught you cheating?”

Michele rolled his eyes. “Can you give her a breakup story that doesn’t make me look like an asshole? Tell her I snore too loudly or have bad taste in music.”

“That makes me sound picky,” he argued. “I’ll tell her you don’t like dogs. Dealbreaker.”

“Obvious lie, Ji-hyun loves me.”

“You think too highly of yourself,” Seung-gil said. “I’ll tell her we couldn’t make the distance work.”

“Ah.” A cold pang struck within Michele, courtesy of reality. Two more months and his fake boyfriend would be on the other side of the planet again. “That makes sense.”

“Okay,” Seung-gil said.

“Okay.”

“It’s settled then.”

“Yeah.”

Seung-gil looked down at his phone. His thumbs hovered over the screen. After a minute, he pocketed it. “Well, it would be strange to send it right now. I suppose it can wait a month.”

“Sure. No big deal,” Michele said, trying not to sound relieved.

 

Michele feigned fascination with the Real Madrid game up on the TV set, carefully avoiding eye contact with the handsome, scruffy thirtysomething eyeing him from across the bar. And he definitely was not trying not to watch Seung-gil and the cute young Spanish skater chatting him up by the jukebox. He certainly did not notice the Spanish skater masterfully executing a casual one-armed hot-guy lean against the jukebox, his torso angling ever so slightly towards Seung-gil.

He startled when an empty beer bottle slammed down next to his glass.

“That’s enough,” Sara barked. “I can’t just stand by and do nothing anymore. Tell me what’s going on.”

“Sara?”

“Don’t ‘Sara’ me.”

“Mom?” he joked.

“Don’t change the subject. Something’s bothering you, and I want to know what’s wrong.”

Michele shrugged. “I’m fine.”

“Look, I get that you don’t have to tell me everything,” Sara said, taking the bar stool next to his. “But I keep asking, and you won’t tell me, but clearly you haven’t figured it out on your own because it’s been months and you still look –” She leaned back, her eyes narrowing. “You look like _me_.”

“No shit,” he snorted.

“Not like that. You look like me two months ago, outside the club.” Her jaw dropped. “Is this about a girl? Or a boy?”

“Um –”

“Did someone break your heart? Do I need to go get my baseball bat? Nobody fucks with a Crispino –”

“No! God. It’s nothing, really.”

“Mickey.” She put a hand on his shoulder. “You helped me back then. Let me help you.”

He glanced back up at the television. “Maybe I should marry a footballer? I feel like that would solve all of my life problems.”

She followed his gaze. “I’d do anything for you, Mickey, but does it have to be a Spanish footballer? They have all the hottest players. I could help you land a Dutch one, though,” she said with a grin. “Would that actually help you forget whoever it is you’re thinking about right now?”

He shook his head. “I’ve tried everything. I just can’t find my chill.”

Sara laughed and threw an arm around him. “Of course not, you’re a Crispino! Being hopelessly extra is a family tradition. My mom loves my dad for it, my girlfriend loves me for it, and the right person will love you for it. Put yourself out there, Mickey.”

“For what? We’ll be separated in two months, anyway.”

“And if you do nothing, the regret will stick with you a lot longer than two months.” She stood up and grabbed him by the shoulders. “Mickey. You’re ready for this. Let the Crispino-ness flow through you.”

Michele looked over at the jukebox, but Seung-gil and his companion were gone. His heart sank. He reached for the gin and tonic and gulped it down. As soon as he lowered his glass, he saw the Spanish skater walk out of the men’s room. Alone. The skater sat down at a table with a blonde girl who greeted him with a peck on the lips.

Michele had never run out the door so fast in his life.

 

He didn’t stop to catch his breath until he’d stepped into the elevator doors. He doubled over, fire in his lungs, silently cursing himself for momentarily forgetting that Ubers existed. His path to the hotel had doubled from running around Madrid for anyone who might still be selling flowers at 10 in the evening.

Once he was standing outside Seung-gil’s hotel room door, the fire in his lungs had turned to ice and spread to his fingertips. He balled his free hand into a fist, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door. A dog barked happily in response; Michele heard it paw at the door. Soon, it opened, and Ji-hyun ran up to Michele, wagging her tail.

Behind her, Seung-gil had never looked so beautiful, even with his hair damp and his small frame swimming in a thick white hotel robe. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“Hi.” After scratching Ji-hyun between the ears for a moment, Michele took another deep breath and pushed a bouquet of wildflowers into Seung-gil’s chest. “You deserve me.”

“What?”

“I know the jerks in your past taught you not to want anything from anyone, but it’s okay to want more. You deserve more. And I think…I think you deserve me.” His face burned, and not from the running. “You deserve someone who can remind you of everything that’s wonderful about you, and hold your hand in front of your mom, and choose you over a sexy Dutch footballer. You deserve someone who can make you happy, like, _really_ happy. I can be that guy –”

“Okay –”

“ – because your mom likes me, your dog likes me, I’m a gentleman, and I can be kind of handsome when I make an effort. And I was your pretend boyfriend for a day, I know I wasn’t the only one who thought that it felt right. I can’t be the only one between us who thought that we should make it real. So I think we should try. Even if it’s just for two months, I’d rather spend two months in love with you than wonder what might have been. Let me take you out to dinner. As more than friends.”

“You’re…quite dramatic.” Seung-gil stared down at the flowers. The light pink in his cheeks matched some of the blossoms. “You know, you could have just said ‘go out with me’ like a normal person, and I would have said yes.”

Michele shrugged. “Can’t help it. I have no chill. And I will probably never find my chill.” He grinned. “Get used to it.”

Seung-gil sighed. “Well, thank you for the flowers.”

“…Go out with me?”

Seung-gil nodded.

“Great. Okay,” Michele sighed in relief. “Next Monday, our day off after the Milan show. I’ll show you my favorite places on the city, then we can have a nice dinner. I’ll make it the best date you’ve ever had.”

“Alright.” Seung-gil tried to hide a smile, and Michele’s heart nearly burst at the sight, compelling him to step forward and lightly touch his lips to Seung-gil’s.

They stared at each other for a second. Then, Michele took Seung-gil’s face in his hands and kissed him deeply, any gentlemanly sensibilities going right out the window once Seung-gil parted his lips. Michele heard the bouquet drop to the floor and felt Seung-gil pull him closer by the lapels of his jacket. Kissing him felt different this time; Michele welcomed the flutter in his heart – it felt so much better now that he didn’t have to push it down or pretend it wasn’t there. He smiled into the kiss. He was in love. It wasn’t so terrible.

As soon as he felt a stir in his jeans, he pulled away. “Ah. I didn’t mean to – I was gonna wait until our date to kiss you,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I swear I’m a gentleman. I just got a little carried away.”

“I guess I’ll have to get used to it.” Seung-gil smiled.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHAT'S GONNA HAPPEN IN MILAN? Stay tuned ;) 
> 
> In the meantime, [follow my Tumblr](http://fakeplasticsnow.tumblr.com) for updates, sneak peeks, etc!
> 
> ETA 12/26/2017: [I'm not dead! Here's a preview of the next chapter.](https://fakeplasticsnow.tumblr.com/post/168953202247/writing-update-not-dead-yet-heres-a-preview-of)


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